


I'll Play Your Game

by JayseHasNoGrace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (minimal) and mostly just, Desi Harry Potter, Disabled Characters, Domestic Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Mild Smut, Post-Hogwarts, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, accidental outing (to Muggles), apothecary assistant Harry, mild displays of PTSD, mild homophobia, queer/disabled author, sexually suggestive content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23795692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayseHasNoGrace/pseuds/JayseHasNoGrace
Summary: After quitting the Auror department at the ripe old age of twenty two, Harry Potter finds a nice, uneventful job in an apothecary. At least, it's uneventful until his old rival Draco Malfoy comes into the shop.They strike up an unlikely friendship, which evolves into an increasingly convoluted scheme, which then snowballs spectacularly out of control into a tangle of lies and blurred lines.They'd agreed to a fake relationship — in Harry's case, to get the wizarding world to take him off his 'perfect saviour' pedestal, and in Draco's case, just to be given a chance in wizarding society at all — but neither of them expected just how difficult that might really turn out to be. Especially when the stakes grow ever higher, and they both start falling for each other. Just a little bit.
Relationships: Cho Chang/Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Original Female Character/Original Nonbinary Character, Past Harry/Ginny
Comments: 193
Kudos: 658





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [AlexanderAvery998](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanderavery998/pseuds/alexanderavery998), who beta'd the first seven chapters in autumn of 2019. 
> 
> I've been working on this fic since 2017, and I love it to bits, so I really hope you guys enjoy it too!
> 
> -J

Harry rubbed his shoulder tiredly and wished the damned thing would stop hurting already. There was hardly a chance of that, though; the healers at St. Mungo's had assured him he was likely to have chronic pain for the rest of his life. There wasn't anything physically wrong with it anymore, but since he had been dealing with the pain for so long (thinking it would heal on its own), his brain had decided that that was just how the shoulder was. He supposed that was what he got for being so reckless in the field and then passing off the injury as minor, but when had he ever been anything but reckless?

True to the healers' predictions, it had been quite a few months, and still every morning he woke up with it aching. He thought a bit ruefully, that it was funny how short-lived his Auror career had been, considering that it had apparently been the only fathomable career option for him as far as everyone else was concerned. Himself as well, he supposed, but mostly because he hadn't ever had the faintest idea of what he'd _wanted_ to do.

As much as it seemed like his superiors and coworkers had expected him to insist on continuing Auror work despite the healers having cautioned him to take a break, he found that he didn't actually _want_ to. Quite honestly, whilst the job was fulfilling in some ways (he got to go out in the field and _do_ things), it was definitely lacking in other areas. All the paperwork and red tape he had to go through just to catch a criminal and make sure they didn't go free was infuriating.

There was so much pressure not to get something wrong or they might not be able to charge the criminal, and sometimes that meant not being able to catch them at all because things had to be done in a certain order and there was only so quickly one could do them. Harry had encountered many of these cases, and had learnt these rules the hard way.

On a rather related note, he was incredibly surprised he hadn't gone completely grey. He had yet to find a single grey hair, which was perhaps normal for an ordinary 22-year-old, but he didn't think it so for one who had been working on saving the entire world for half of his life.

He made his way to the kitchen and picked up yesterday's Daily Prophet to continue skimming through the Help Wanted and Classifieds sections. Really, it was the only reason he bought the paper anymore — it had become quite a bit more like Witch Weekly than a reputable and relevant news source. Even after four years, they still tracked Harry, and anything, absolutely _anything,_ that hinted at a love life was covered extensively.

He would never understand the fixation, but after the several-month-long whirlwind of garbage when he and Ginny broke up (in a fairly peaceful way, as breakups go — but not according to the tabloids), they had put Harry under the microscope. Much to their frustration, he hadn't been very active in the dating scene, just as he hadn't been before Ginny. If he wasn't attracted to someone, why seek out a person specifically to be attracted to? It didn't make much sense to him. Besides, he'd had plenty on his plate with work.

Now he had far too much time on his hands — not that he didn't enjoy a little break, but he liked to do _something_. Of course, he didn't have to work to have enough money to live comfortably, but he thought life would be rather dull if he just sat about all the time, and, well, he'd never dealt with boredom well.

Just as he was thinking this, a promising advert caught his eye. Yes, he just might check the place out. He wrote down the information and decided he'd stop by that afternoon after visiting St. Mungo's. He'd gotten in the habit of visiting several times a week, because if he couldn't work, why not at least do something somewhat impactful?

As much as he disliked getting attention for being 'Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World', he knew his visits in the children's ward meant a lot to many of the patients. The healers had told him that the children would guess at what days he would come during the week and get excited just talking about it. Some of the children even got upset when they were checked out if he hadn't visited in the last couple days, wishing they could at least see him one last time before they went home.

Harry liked the kids, but whilst he'd always known he wanted children, he was immensely glad he didn't have them yet. He got on well enough with them, and was good at getting them to do what they were supposed to, but he couldn't imagine having to watch over them all day, every day. It was tiring enough for just a few hours. Still, there were quite a few more in the ward than he wanted in his home, and there was still plenty of time yet to develop some semblance of responsibility.

The Prophet flipped closed as he tossed it back onto the counter and stretched. He scoffed again (just as he had when he'd received it the morning before) at one of the 'sneak peek' articles advertised on the front page. Apparently, if you flipped to page three, you could read 'All About Which Witch Has Caught The Saviour's Eye'.

It disgusted him that he was casually referred to as 'The Saviour'; he hadn't singlehandedly done _anything_ , and if not for things completely out of his control, he might not have been in the position to do anything at all. It all came down to a simple choice. Even disregarding that, it wasn't like anyone else couldn't have done it.

He pushed those thoughts aside (before he ended up stewing over the same things again and again, as he was prone to doing) and flicked a hand at the coffee maker.

Figuring out how to make some Muggle appliances work with magic was truly life-changing; it took much less work to fill and turn on a coffee maker than to deal with magicking on a stove and dealing with a kettle and press and all that nonsense. For that, he would need to actually get up and do it by hand or use a wand, and a wand meant going back to his room, because he inevitably left it there every morning. He had encountered this problem every morning for _years,_ and still had not learnt to just pick it up when he got out of bed. In any case, he was quite lucky to have Arthur Weasley and his obsession with Muggle contraptions in his life.

It was fairly late in the day, as Harry had never been a naturally early riser, so he decided to go ahead and visit St. Mungo's after his coffee. He figured he could pick up a bite to eat afterward, and then go check out the job prospect.

The day looked to be fairly productive and Harry was proud of himself, even though he felt a bit silly for it. He was doing something (which was nice, despite not having done it yet), and even if it had somewhat recently been part of his daily routine to do much more, still it was something.

Grabbing the finished cup of coffee as it floated toward him, he headed back upstairs to get dressed.

He supposed he wasn't really doing a job interview today, just checking the place out and seeing what exactly the position entailed, so there was no need to dress up. Still, he thought he ought to at least wear some nice casual clothes and not the type riddled with holes that used to belong to Dudley. In fact, he wasn't sure why he even still had those, come to think of it. He shrugged the question off as something to care about at some other, later date, which was, of course, the very reason why he still had them.

He decided that casual robes were best (really, who could fault casual robes? They were always appropriate — well, except when they weren't, but he was reasonably sure that was not the case today). Waving his now empty mug onto his bedside table (where a rather large collection seemed to be growing, despite the fact that they could be so easily moved downstairs to the kitchen), he went to shower, hoping that his hair would behave a bit more if it was wet, but knowing it wouldn't.

◇◇◇

As he exited St. Mungo's (once again in disguise under a simple glamour, like he had been on the way there), he decided to go ahead to Baule Row and find a place to eat there. He hadn't actually been there before, although he'd heard of it in passing once or twice. It was full of tiny shops which were not nearly as successful as those in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. Being in a much more rural area than either of the aforementioned places, this wasn't much of a surprise, and working there sounded appealing to Harry. Of course he'd still have to disguise himself, but he wouldn't have to be as paranoid about it with fewer people about.

There weren't many options for places to eat, as there were only nine businesses in total (many of which appeared to be deserted), but there was a small pub, which Harry was delighted to find served excellent hot chips and sandwiches.

After eating, he headed over to the empty looking apothecary and looked in, seeing that it was not, indeed, completely empty, only empty of customers. A small bell tinkled as he pushed open the door, and the witch at the counter looked up.

"Hello, what can I do for you?"

Her accent took Harry briefly by surprise — though he couldn't quite put a finger on where it was from, perhaps somewhere in the Middle East or northern Africa — but he continued on.

"Er, I saw an advert in the paper that you needed someone to help out, and I was wondering what exactly you needed."

"Hmm. Well I'd mainly need you to sort the wares and package them. My last assistant left with hardly a warning, and I haven't got the steady hands for it." Her left hand spasmed slightly, as if to emphasise the point. "I'd be handling the front and you'd be doing the chopping and such."

Maybe it wasn't the job that Harry had always dreamed of, but there was something about the shop that seemed quite comfortable. In any case, he'd had plenty of experience with this sort of thing whilst serving detentions for Snape. Perhaps he could help out with some of the prepared potions that were sold; if she had trouble with her hands, she'd probably need it.

Despite having hated potions in school, he didn't actually hate the subject itself — rather, he found it interesting, but increasingly difficult. The actual practise of making potions in his own residence, able to work at his own pace and figure out _why_ he needed to use whichever ingredient when, or prepare something a certain way, could actually be very therapeutic.

"Well, I'd be interested in the job, if you'd consider me."

The witch looked him over with shrewd eyes.

"I don't suppose you've much experience working with potion ingredients?"

"Not professionally, but I did rather well on my O.W.L.s"

"Pfft. O.W.L.s, they'll show that you can do a test — won't show if you can keep up in a shop, though." She continued to eye him for a moment. "Let's see you do a couple of things. Maybe if you don't ruin my ingredients, I'll think about hiring you," she finally said and waved him toward the back room.

She showed him the ingredients she needed prepared and where the tools and jars were, and then went back up to the front, leaving Harry to work alone.

He spent over an hour quietly removing billywig stings, siphoning out the pus, and putting each into their respective jars. Nearly another hour passed as he tied bunches of knotgrass together into neat bundles. Just as he finished weighing and packaging the last of the ginger root, the shopkeeper cleared her throat. Harry whipped his head up, startled.

"You seem to have gotten a good amount done," she said, walking closer to look over his work.

"I haven't started on the ashwinder eggs, but I've finished with the rest of it."

"That'll do just fine. You got more done than I expected. Pretty neat work too. I'd imagine you'd do just fine — that is, if you still want the job?"

"Er, yeah, that'd be great." He hadn't expected it to be quite so easy. It wasn't guaranteed yet, though. "There's one thing, erm — there's not really a good way to say this, but I've sort of been disguising my appearance."

"Oh?" she said, looking at him warily. "And why's that?"

"It's just, well." He dropped the magic that changed his appearance. Damn, he'd really never gotten less awkward, had he?

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" she asked somewhat angrily.

"No, no I wouldn't... I just don't like the attention, and there's always reporters that show up. But if I'm working in the back, then I won't have to keep the disguise up all the time."

"Hmph..." she conceded after a lengthy, thoughtful pause. "I can't see a reason you'd have to trick me. I'm not going to give you any special treatment or anything, just so you know."

"I wouldn't expect you to. It's me, I promise. I'd just like a nice quiet job where I can work with my hands."

"Alright then. My name's Zylphia. Shop opens at eight and closes at six. You'll be here starting tomorrow?"

"Yes, sure."

She nodded once, and turned back to the front of the shop, leaving Harry to follow uncertainly behind.

She paid him absolutely no mind — settling back in behind the counter, and directing her attention to what seemed to be accounting books. Harry wasn't sure how she was reading the tiny, cramped writing that filled every spare millimetre of the page, as she traced her knotted brown fingers across the lines, but it was clear that he was no longer of any concern.

He donned his glamour once again, and exited the shop quietly, considering himself dismissed.

Well. That had been interesting. But a good kind of interesting, he thought. In any case, he'd successfully gotten a job, so that was certainly something to celebrate.

He'd liked what he'd seen of the job so far, and he felt that was a promising sign for the future. Plus, Zylphia had seemed pleased with his work, so he didn't foresee any problems there.

Speaking of Zylphia, she seemed a very no-nonsense woman, but not altogether unlikeable. She had knotted, bony extremities, though it didn't seem to be from old age; her dark brown skin — darker even than Hermione's — showed few wrinkles, and her immaculately braided hair had only one regal streak of grey through it. She was perhaps fifty (quite young indeed, for a witch), and had the stern-set face of one who knew exactly what she expected of life.

Harry wondered if there weren't any magical remedies for whatever caused the issues with her hands. Perhaps muscle tremors? He had never thought of it before, but surely there must be — especially since wizards tended to live so long. But if there were, wouldn't Zylphia have used them?

Then again, maybe she didn't want to. It's not as if Harry had ever sought out a permanent correction for his vision, and he supposed it might be similar for her. Regardless, he supposed it wasn't really any of his business what she did or didn't do and why.

He Apparated swiftly back to his house, and, once the dizziness subsided, he couldn't help frowning at it. He really hated Apparating in front of the house so that he was forced to take the whole thing in.

Harry had liked the place well enough when he and Ginny had bought it, but now it was just a place to stay. Every time he Apparated back, the house just seemed so tired, like it was in need of something full and vibrant that he couldn't give it.

He'd hoped at the time they'd bought it that it would be a family home, but now it never would (at least, not for him), and he almost felt like he was letting the house down. He didn't want to go back to Grimmauld Place (although he still held onto it, he'd just let Kreacher have the run of the place), and finding and buying a new place just seemed like so much trouble when he was already here. So for now he stayed.

He shuddered to think of just _what_ had become of Number 12, Grimmauld Place in the absence of any living being besides the old house elf. But, as much as he disliked the place (for innumerably various reasons), Harry didn't think he could bear to let it go. The house was irrevocably tied to Sirius, and although the man had hated the place, it was still the thing most closely tied to him that Harry had.

Maybe someday he'd fix it up, but as of now, he hadn't the motivation, and even though he knew it was what Sirius would've wanted (if burning it completely to the ground were not an option), he had the feeling that trying to do so would feel like he was stripping away the last essence of his godfather that remained there. It was much better to keep Grimmauld Place in the abstract and not think too hard about any specific things to do with it. Much better to think about concrete things instead. Presently relevant things.

Speaking of which, he'd had a somewhat eventful day so far, and it was only just now becoming evening. He was now officially an apothecary assistant. How odd. He would've never guessed this was what he'd be doing instead of being an Auror.

It seemed quite nice though, and he was looking forward to starting the next day: he'd have a job where he was physically working, but where that work was also somewhat relaxing. A mechanical sorting, cleaning, dicing, siphoning — that was all he had to do. Plus, it would be calm, and he needn't worry that reporters were going to spontaneously bombard him.

With that cheerful thought in mind, he set about looking through the cabinets and fridge for something that remotely resembled dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

The first couple weeks of Harry's new job went by calmly, and pretty much as he had expected, which was a relief.

Also as expected, Zylphia had asked him to help make some of the simple brews with long keeping times that she sold. He'd perfected a few on his own to keep around the house a year or two ago, as it had become a necessity to have Wit-Sharpening and Wideye potions on hand. A simple sleeping draught and Blood-Replenishing potions had also become a lifesaver of sorts.

Every Friday he made Pepperup Potion and a hiccoughing solution, as well as the four aforementioned ones. He found that the Friday brewing was his favourite part of his job; there was something about the slow, methodical, solitary work that set him at ease.

Harry had offered to work every day, because it wasn't as if he had much better to do, but Zylphia insisted she didn't need his help on the weekends. This at least meant he had a much more regular schedule visiting the children's ward, as weekends were his only free afternoons. He felt a bit bad that he could only visit in the evenings during the week because often the smaller children were already asleep, but there wasn't much to be done about that, and he had yet to hear the children complain.

He topped off and corked the last of the vials, placing them in a box to bring to the front. It was nearly closing time and he doubted someone would come in so late. It would be terribly inconsiderate to do so, in Harry's opinion.

As he began shelving the bottles of Pepperup Potion, he heard the door chime. Of course. He hoped the customer would just pick up something small they needed and leave quickly.

"Well, it's been awhile hasn't it, young man?"

"Indeed, Zylphia," a low drawling voice replied. "It's nice to see you. I'll admit I'm a bit starved for kind eyes at the moment."

"No fault of yours — it's just all of _them_ who are troublemakers, I'm sure."

"Always so kind. I'm not sure why you bother to lie."

Zylphia laughed. "Oh please, you know I'm not lying — if anything you're the one lying to yourself. You need some more confidence, you do."

"Flattery will get you nowhere Zylphia; you know I'll buy from you anyway. I'm running low on Pepperup and Blood-Replenishing Potions, beetle eyes, nettles, and lacewing flies."

"Never understood why you don't make the potions yourself, you're plenty capable."

"Yes, well, as I've told you more times than I can possibly recall, if you'll provide them, why should I waste time on the simple ones when I've got experimenting to do? Of course, I still need to make the more complex ones that your hapless _potions master_ ," here the voice was heavy with sarcasm, "surely couldn't manage."

"Oh Michael up and left a month ago — which you'd _know_ if you'd come by," she ribbed lightly. "I found a new assistant, though, so it's not all bad."

"Really? Well I'll be sure to leave a complaint if the potions aren't up to the usual standard."

"He does quite well; you shouldn't have a problem."

Harry shifted on his feet nervously. He'd been stalling in the corner, nervously rearranging jars, not even wanting to look in their direction lest he draw attention to himself. He could hear Zylphia scooping beetle eyes as she and the customer continued to talk. At least they'd moved on from talking about him.

Maybe he could just walk into the back along the wall without them noticing. He took a tentative step. He'd read somewhere that part of being unnoticed was confidence that nobody could see you—

"Your shift's up. I'm closing up after this customer. Don't think I'm gonna pay you more for staying late."

Normally Harry would've laughed and joked back at Zylphia; now he briefly contemplated just making a break for the back, but he knew that would look even more odd. He reluctantly turned to face Zylphia, knowing he'd been seen and that the customer would know he'd been lurking and that he was 'The Famous Harry—'

"Potter?"

"...Malfoy?"

Harry wouldn't say the man looked the embodiment of a long line of proud pureblood aristocracy, but he certainly looked recognisable.

"What are you doing here?"

"I, er, I work here," Harry replied, kicking himself internally. Was he a wizard or wasn't he? Why didn't he just put his glamour up? He could've avoided this entirely if he hadn't frozen like a deer in headlights — oh, his old Auror partner would be so disappointed.

" _You're_ Zylphia's assistant?"

"He's my assistant alright, now are you gonna pay for your things or are you just gonna stand there all night? I've got a shop to close up, you know."

Malfoy smiled. "Yes, of course, Zylphie. Wouldn't want more customers wandering in thinking it's just fine to shop past six. How much do I owe you? Include the potions, please. I'll grab them in a minute."

Harry was at a bit of a loss. Everything felt surreal suddenly.

Of course Malfoy had grown up, Harry wasn't surprised he was capable of friendliness and courtesy — he'd tried to save Harry from the Snatchers, after all. But _smiling_? And seeming somewhat open? It was strange and, well, there was no other way around it: he looked so _different_.

His hair was somewhat long — not like his father's had been, but worn loose and slightly above his shoulders, and it wasn't straight, as Harry had always assumed (or what he guessed he would have assumed, had he spent time pondering the texture of Malfoy's hair during their time at Hogwarts). And he was wearing Muggle clothes — something he never would've imagined a Malfoy doing of his own volition — but it was the tattoos that were the most shocking.

He wasn't exactly _covered_ with them, but there were certainly quite a few. Some of them were still — presumably Muggle tattoos — but others moved and changed, dancing across his pale white skin. As mesmerising as it was, all Harry could think was how much Lucius would have disapproved. Not, of course, that Lucius Malfoy disapproving of something ever bothered Harry. He wouldn't say he was _glad_ that he was dead, but he certainly hadn't been broken up about it when he'd heard that Lucius had died in Azkaban.

Draco glanced at Harry on his way back to the counter with the potions, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it, looking away and setting his wares firmly on the counter.

"Would you like to, erm, catch up or something?" Harry blurted.

He couldn't deny his curiosity had been piqued. Malfoy looked to be doing well enough, and Harry hadn't heard anything about him since he'd testified at his and Narcissa's trials.

Malfoy's eyes darted back up from the counter to Harry's face, and his brow crinkled. "Now?"

"Er, I guess, yeah." Harry obviously hadn't thought that far ahead.

"I guess that would be fine. D'you want to go to the Witch's Veil?" Malfoy asked, still looking a bit confused as to why Harry would want to 'catch up' with him.

"Sure." Even if things went sour, he could at least get a nice sandwich and chips like he had the first time.

He checked quickly that everything was in order in the back room, and came back up front to tell Zylphia.

"Alright, see you Monday," she waved him off.

Harry turned to Malfoy. "You don't mind if I...?" He performed a few spells to change his appearance.

Malfoy looked taken aback for only a split second before he nodded.

"Not at all."

They began the short walk toward the Witch's Veil in an uncomfortable silence.

"So," Malfoy ran a nervous hand through his hair, "why did you want to talk?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno, I suppose it just was a surprise to see you after so long. You seem..."

"Different?" "Well." They finished at the same time.

Harry let out a short laugh. "Yes, different too."

"Mmm," Malfoy agreed. "You didn't expect me to be doing well?"

"Well no— I— it's not that I _didn't_. I guess I just don't know _what_ I expected."

"I see."

They continued in silence until they reached the pub, which Malfoy waved him into, holding the door.

"So let's just admit this is really odd," Malfoy said, once again breaking the silence after they sat down in a booth. "If we don't, I'm not sure there will be much to talk about."

"Yes, it's definitely that."

"Harry, you and I have never liked each other. I appreciate the civility, and maybe it's part of your little guilt-hero complex, but you don't have to struggle through an awkward conversation with me for an hour so you can feel like you're an all-forgiving saint," he said bluntly.

Harry was a bit taken aback by the use of his first name and the lack of malice in such a statement, but he responded in kind.

"I'm definitely not all-forgiving, and we both know I'm nothing like a saint," he sighed. "This isn't part of my 'guilt-hero complex,'" he held up air quotes, "I'm just...interested."

"In me?"

"Sure. How is your life? What do you do? I assume you live nearby if you shop here?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but seemed to hold back whatever comment he was going to make.

"I'm fine. I live on the edge of Muggle London because I spend most of my public life as a Muggle. Which, if you're wondering, is quite a bit more difficult than you may think. Apparently Muggles need 'papers', which, as vague as they sound, are ostensibly imperative. As a wizard, I don't have them, but the man who hired me didn't ask like the others, just pays me in cash. I was told by the other places when I suggested such an arrangement that it's illegal, but what am I supposed to do? Be reborn as a Muggle?"

Harry was stuck between laughing at his apparent incredulity and flippancy toward Muggle law, and concern for whatever shady business was paying him under the table.

"That does sound difficult. Where do you work?" Harry asked carefully.

"Don't sound so concerned. It's a record store, which is seemingly not the busy locale in Muggle society as it is in wizarding society. One of my coworkers said something about a thing called a 'CD', which is apparently much more popular. Strange how so many little things are so different, and if I seem to not know about them, they ask if I'm an 'alien'. I still haven't figured out what that is, but I _assume_ they're joking."

"Yeah, the two worlds are very different; it can take a lot of adjusting. Would you like something? I was going to go order, I haven't eaten since lunch."

"Neither have I, I'll come with."

Once they sat back down, they got into a rather pleasant conversation about Malfoy's job and the Muggles he'd encountered and why Harry was working at Zylphia's apothecary. They ended up talking for much longer than either of them had intended, and the conversation branched out into all sorts of odd areas.

They were currently discussing the theory that whilst the Philosopher's Stone _could_ be made, there was no way to find out if the elixir from it could truly keep someone alive _forever_ , and that perhaps there were limits to what it could do (Harry had no idea how they had gotten here, but was enjoying it nonetheless). During this discussion, however, he happened to overhear someone exclaiming at the time, and it jolted him back into reality.

"Is it really ten already?" he asked Malfoy, interrupting him mid-sentence.

Malfoy didn't seem to mind and checked the time. "Bloody hell, it is. When did that happen?"

Harry shrugged. "I've, erm, I've got to go, I'm due for a firecall soon."

"Oh. Yeah, I didn't intend to be out for so long."

"Listen, Malfoy, as admittedly weird as this was, I kind of enjoyed talking to you. We could hang out again sometime, if you'd like?"

"You know you can use my given name, right? There's nothing wrong with it," he said with a small smile.

"Draco, then. So?"

"I'll owl you."

After Harry Apparated back to his house, he went through his firecall with Ron and Hermione in a daze.

They had finally settled on a date for their wedding, and he assured them of his excitement and told them about his new job and how it was going. Ron told him about how odd it still felt in the Auror department without Harry. It was a nice conversation, and he was glad to talk to them, as it had been a while, but he had found it very hard to concentrate. Everything still felt like it wasn't real.

It wasn't as if he really had anything 'normal' in his life anymore. There were no routines established more than a month or so ago. Everything was so different already, that he supposed something truly strange on top of that had thrown him off.

Speaking of strange, Draco truly fit the definition. He was very recognisably his past self in mannerisms and looks, but also so _other_. It was difficult to describe. He was just as sharp with his tone, but he seemed to have switched from outright antagonism to joking barbs.

Draco was actually quite funny, and his confusion about all things Muggle without the disdain of past years was especially entertaining. At some point he seemed to have discovered the concept that 'different doesn't mean bad,' and it showed when he talked about Muggles. He may think some of their ideas were ridiculous, but others he admired, and he seemed able to be confused about certain things without taking it as a sign that Muggles were inferior.

It seemed to Harry that his actual personality didn't change so much as his close-mindedness and general practise of being a royal prick — and Harry found that Draco's personality itself was quite agreeable.

Harry had only been able to see ends and pieces of most of the tattoos as they stuck out of Draco's shirt, but he wished he could see them completely — the moving ones especially. The only completely visible wizarding one was a Snitch, and that had only been visible intermittently, as it seemed to flit about wherever it pleased. The Dark Mark, however had been plainly visible. Although it was faded and resembled an old, faintly reddened scar, it was clearly visible through the tattooed flowers that surrounded and intertwined with it. The piece altogether made a hauntingly pretty picture, in Harry's opinion.

A tap on the window startled him out of his reverie, and he saw a very tiny owl with a rounded head perched outside. He opened the window and it stuck its leg out for him to untie the letter, albeit with a rather disgruntled look on its face.

> **Your potions are of a rather better quality than Zylphia's old assistant (although, to be fair, it's a low bar).**
> 
> **Are you free next Saturday?**
> 
> **DM**

Harry frowned. He was surprised that Draco had owled so quickly, but Saturday was a bit farther off than he had hoped. Still, there was only so much one could expect from a new...friendship? He supposed that's what he'd like, but it did feel rather odd to think he was developing a friendship with Draco Malfoy.

The small owl ruffled its feathers.

"I'm sorry, give me one moment."

Harry practically ran up the stairs to fetch a quill, ink, and parchment, and scribbled out a quick reply.

> **Should I be concerned as to why you've already needed to take one of my potions?**
> 
> **Saturday sounds good. Where and what time would you like to meet?**
> 
> **HP**

He ran back down, waving the parchment to dry, and folding it too quickly, knowing it would likely smudge. That bird did not want to be kept waiting though, and Harry knew better than to cross a strong-minded owl. He quickly tied the parchment to its leg and stepped back. It cocked its head expectantly.

"I'm sorry, I don't have anything to give you."

The bird gave him a rather hard disapproving look and hopped around to face away. It pushed off from the window sill, pooped, and then flew off at top speed.

Harry took a step back and blinked in surprise. He had seen a lot of judgmental and pissed off owls, but somehow, never one quite so...freely articulate. He began to laugh.

Of course Draco had the tiniest bird that somehow managed to be more intimidating than Minerva McGonagall herself, and with more frank personality than Harry had ever seen in an animal. Perhaps it was sensitive about its size; it really couldn't have been more than six inches tall altogether, although it was quite plump.

Today had been quite the day for Harry. He hadn't actually had more than a few small bites of his food at the pub, as he'd been rather preoccupied with the conversation, so he thought it best to make a quick dinner and then go to bed. Upon entering the kitchen, he found that all of his dishes were dirty, and he set them to washing themselves whilst he looked in the cupboards. It became rapidly clear that takeaway might be a better option.

He sighed, grabbed his coat and keys, and left, heading down the street for some curry. Well, 'down the street' in a sense, meaning that he Apparated from his front step into an alley in London, and it was down the street from there.

When he arrived back, curry in hand, he discovered a rather impatient owl waiting at his window. Well.

Harry quickly opened the door and motioned the bird in. It turned its head away. He sighed and went inside, depositing the curry on the coffee table and opening the window for the picky owl. It stuck out its leg resentfully and sank its sharp talons into Harry's skin as he tried to untie the parchment.

"Thank you," he said sarcastically, once he got it free (both the letter, and his hand from the bird's pointed grasp). He unfolded the parchment and the owl gave a high pitched screech.

> **I know that look. You didn't give him anything, did you? You had better feed Bartholomew something, or he will draw blood and there isn't a thing I can do about it. I gave him some treats before he left so hopefully you were able to retrieve this letter intact.**

Harry stopped reading to glance at the bird.

Thinking things were best not left to chance, he simply reached for the container of curry, opened it, and placed it in front of the owl. He had known he was right to be wary. Hopefully it left some for him — and also that he wouldn't contract some strange disease from eating after a carnivorous bird.

> **I should think lunch at a Muggle restaurant might be more pleasant. Perhaps we could meet at the Ministry designated Apparition point in central London at, say one o'clock, and walk around to see what looks good?**
> 
> **I dearly hope your skin, any window hangings, and your dignity are all intact.**
> 
> **DM**

For such casual language, Harry thought it sounded like Draco had put quite a bit of thought into this. However, he decided not to comment. He looked at the bird to make sure it was still occupied picking pieces of whatever it liked out of the curry, and returned to his room to reply.

> **Not to worry, Bartholomew is eating the takeaway I intended to have.**
> 
> **Minimal bloodshed. Dignity and window dressings intact.**
> 
> **Sounds like a plan, see you then.**
> 
> **HP**

He once again descended the stairs and tied the parchment to the bird, who gave him a smug look (which was either ruined or enhanced by the curry dripping down its beak and into its feathers — it rather difficult to decide) and flew off.


	3. Chapter 3

The week seemed to zip by for Harry in his excitement for Saturday. If he had to guess, he would say he was so pumped because, well, he'd had the same few friends for such a long time that new friends were almost a foreign concept to him. Plus, their last meeting had been _fun_ , and Harry wanted more of that. He had realised he didn't actually _do_ a lot of fun things anymore.

He hummed tunelessly and slightly off-key as he slowly stirred the Blood-Replenishing potion.

"Well you're in a good mood, aren't you?"

Harry started and looked up to see Zylphia standing in the doorway.

"Thanks for the scare, Zylphie, don't you know better than to sneak up on me? I could've ruined the potion, and that'd be your loss — I certainly wouldn't pay for it," he responded mildly.

"You wouldn't mess it up. And it's clearly fine now, so I don't know what you're whingeing about. What I want to know is what's got you humming back here like a drunk lark."

He shrugged. "I'm just in a good mood."

"Ah, sure. You're in such a good mood without a thing causing it because you're such a cheerful chap."

"You don't have to be patronising. Can't I be happy sometimes?"

"You can — I'd say it's doing you good — but I know when someone's holding something back from me."

"Who knew you were such a busybody?"

She raised her eyebrows and turned back toward the front of the store.

"Just let me know when you feel like spilling whatever's got you smiling like a loon," she said as she left the room.

Harry didn't think he was acting too out of the ordinary. For all Zylphia knew, he could be quite the 'cheerful chap', and had only been trying to be serious whilst starting a new job. He knew that wouldn't be giving her nearly enough credit, though. She wasn't stupid — rather on the contrary, she seemed very perceptive — but still, Harry thought she acted like she knew a bit more than she actually did.

Besides, whilst he was excited about the next day's plans, he wasn't _unreasonably_ so. What was so strange about being happy when one was going to hang out with a new friend?

Maybe Zylphia just needed more points of interest in her life. Harry would fixate on his employee too, if the only other interesting thing was the mundane runnings of an apothecary with a rather unappetising name that, as far as he knew, no one ever used.

Okay, that was mean. He didn't mean that, and he was fairly certain she wasn't the nosey Petunia Dursley type.

Harry checked to see if the potion was cool enough to pour, and distributed it into the waiting vials, reveling in the routine of it all. He heard the door chime faintly as he magicked the cauldron clean, and quickly quashed the bolt of hope that went through him. Every time the door had chimed all week, some part of his mind hoped it would be Draco, which made very little sense, seeing as he had just come in last Friday, and he was unlikely to have run out of anything in a week—

"Harry?" There was a light knock on the wooden doorframe.

Harry turned around in surprise and beamed. Apparently it wasn't _so_ unlikely after all.

"Hello Draco, what are you doing here so soon again?"

"Zylphie asked the same. It's like you people don't _want_ any business."

Harry gave a small snort. "You're not too far off the mark, if we're just judging from her complaints about customers."

"I can hear you, you know!" Zylphia's voice came from the other room.

"It's true! I never said there was a problem with it either. The fewer customers, the fewer possibilities to mess up my brewing."

"Hrmph."

A corner of Draco's mouth turned up. "She's the same with everyone, I see."

"So. Couldn't wait until tomorrow to see me?" Harry joked.

Draco's mouth twitched again. "Something like that. Or I ran out of powdered asphodel. But you know, deflating a fragile ego is just cruel."

"Yes, shield me from the horrible sides of the real world. I certainly can't handle it," Harry replied drily.

"Don't I know it. I do what I can. So, see you tomorrow?"

Harry nodded, and Draco went back to the front.

When Harry emerged from the back a few minutes later, having finished his duties and tidied up for the day, Zylphia fixed him with a stern look, eyebrows slightly lifted.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. I didn't say a thing."

He sighed. "Alright, well I'm done with everything, am I good to go?"

She kept the look firmly in place and let him sit in the uncomfortable silence for several long seconds before finally nodding.

"Alright. I'll see you on Monday."

◇◇◇

Harry had no idea what to wear. Yes, usually casual robes were a fail-safe, but he was going to be in Muggle London and robes were not an option. In fact, there was so much more room to be dressed incorrectly for the occasion in Muggle clothing. He didn't even know where they were going, so there was no help there

In the end, he wore a t-shirt and jeans like what Draco had worn last time. He just hoped that was the usual for him, and that Draco wouldn't have his heart set on going anywhere nice.

As it was, he still hadn't ever bought any Muggle clothes for himself, so it was just the least worn of Dudley's old hand-me-downs with a few simple resizing charms. He thought he'd actually done a rather good job with the charms — the fit wasn't half bad.

Harry walked out of the alley where the Apparition point was, and spotted Draco leaning against the brick wall of the tea parlour across the street. Draco apparently did not notice him, as he was staring directly at the ground and ignoring everything else. 

Harry's hand on his shoulder broke his concentration, and he jumped slightly; however, his face quickly eased into a smile once he saw it was Harry.

"Hello. Fancy seeing you here."

"Ha ha," Harry deadpanned. "Did you want to go here, then? I figured you were probably lurking outside with purpose."

"I don't _lurk_ , thanks. But yes, I'm in the mood for some properly brewed tea."

Harry rolled his eyes at the implication that tea from just any place wouldn't do. Just because he wasn't the old Malfoy, that did not, evidently, mean he couldn't still be incredibly posh sometimes — not that Harry really expected anything else.

A large group of chattering friends pushed through the door just as Harry was following Draco inside, and he placed a hand on Draco's waist to gently bring him to the side so they could pass without jostling him.

Once they'd ordered, they sat in silence, waiting. Draco drummed his fingers on the table, and finally let out a sigh.

"Alright. I'll play your game."

"What?" Harry was rather confused. He had no idea where that had come from — he tried to think back to anything he or Draco might have said before, but couldn't remember anything relevant.

Draco answered slowly. "I didn't understand at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. And then you gave me all the confirmation I needed today. I know you've never liked the attention and fame, even if it took me a while to realise that, and I see how often you're still in the Prophet. I know plenty of people still talk about you, and the Weasleys have always been up your arse — I doubt that's changed. You broke up with your girlfriend, and I don't think that was part of the plan, but it was the start. I think you realised you didn't actually have to live your life according to everyone else's idea of what it should be. And then you quit the Auror department, and now you're hanging out with me.

"I had the feeling I was still missing something though, but I think I've got it now. You're not the touchy type, or an open person...yes, you've definitely been flirting. I wasn't positive the first day, but there's no way it hasn't been intentional. You want to date me and piss everyone off. I know you and your little hero complex: you don't believe that you're special and deserving of all this reverence, and it _still_ hasn't stopped. So since ignoring it hasn't worked, you want to show them all that you're not their idyllic little golden boy. You're not a life-saving, bad-guy-chasing Auror. You're not getting married to your school sweetheart and rearing another little horde of Weasleys. And now, just to really make the point, you want to date a washed-up Death Eater who's practically been thrown out of wizarding society — and a man at that, because you just know they'll have plenty to say, even if it's not outright condemnation."

Harry sat silently waiting for him to finish. Really, Draco massively overestimated Harry's cunning. 

"Are you done now?"

"Yes. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Er, no."

"Really? I don't believe you for a second. Even as hapless as you were in school, nothing adds up otherwise."

Harry actually had _not_ thought of dating Draco. Relationships weren't really on his mind, but he had been enjoying spending time with him, and the plan Draco _thought_ Harry had was actually rather...alluring. It sounded incredibly satisfying to push into everyone's face that everything they thought about him was _wrong_.

Even the Weasleys — as much as he loved them — were part of the problem. Sure, they knew he'd fancied boys, but they'd treated it much the same as when Fred and Lee Jordan had had a thing for a while in their younger years at Hogwarts, or Ron's obsession with Viktor Krum. They didn't think anything of it happening, but it wasn't expected to be anything _serious_. They were all expected to marry someone of the 'opposite' gender and have children. Molly even still harped on Charlie, not believing that he just wasn't interested in anyone. She always insisted that all of her boys would find a nice girl (and that Ginny would find a nice boy) and settle down before they got too old, as if that was a comfort.

Really, Charlie was the only other one who seemed to get annoyed with it, as the rest _had_ settled down with someone they were expected to — until Harry and Ginny had split up, that is. Harry didn't know if this was the way the rest of the wizarding world was, but he'd never recalled knowing of any queer couples that weren't between school-age people, and even those were kept a little hush-hush.

Harry thought he may already be at the point of screaming if Molly asked him one more time when he was going to marry a nice witch. Deciding what he wanted to do, he finally responded to Draco.

"Okay, what if I _did_ want you to pretend to date me to piss everyone off?"

Draco shrugged. "Like I said, I'll play along."

Harry's response was interrupted by the server bringing their orders over.

"Sorry for the wait. Can I help you with anything else?"

"No, thank you." Harry waved them off, and Draco quirked an eyebrow but didn't comment.

"Why?" Harry demanded.

"Why what?"

"Why would you go along with that? It's kind of a ridiculous idea, and I thought you tried to avoid the magical world if you could."

Draco nodded and toyed with his croissant, ripping it slowly apart. "I do, but I miss it. I don't really have any friends to go back to, but it's just... _different_ living in the Muggle world. Things could get worse, sure, and I bet they will at first. After a while though, it's possible I won't be so shunned any more — I mean you _are_ The Chosen One, if anyone can fix a reputation it's you."

Harry sipped his coffee and nodded once. "I believe that. So when do we start?"

"Whenever you like, _darling_."

Harry snorted. "Maybe the old, polished Draco could've pulled that off, but nobody's going to believe for a second that _you're_ being serious." He eyed Draco's tattooed arms pointedly.

Draco grinned and leaned back. "Alright, no calling you darling. As for when we start, I haven't got anything else to do today, have you?"

"No. Shall we just...walk around Diagon Alley or something?"

Draco shrugged. "It's your plan."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Then let's go, are you done?"

Draco nodded as he looked at the torn pieces of pastry on his napkin and half drunk cup of tea. None of it looked particularly appetising now, anyway.

They both stood and Harry went to the front to pay, waving Draco off when he tried to hand him money. Draco frowned, but put his wallet back in his pocket and followed him out the door.

"Apparate?" Harry asked, heading toward an alley.

"Sure."

Harry grabbed Draco's hand as they entered the narrow alleyway, and Draco raised an eyebrow. Harry shrugged. "Figured we should side-along."

Draco nodded and Harry squeezed his hand, pulling him closer and turning on the spot.

With a pop, they reappeared outside of the Leaky Cauldron. 

"Fancy a look 'round Flourish and Blotts?" Harry asked, not letting go of Draco's hand.

Draco's eyes lit up. "Merlin, is that even a question? It's been years, and I honestly doubt I've been seeing the best selection at that old place on Baule Row."

Harry looked away from Draco, and frowned at the people already stopping to point and gossip. He hadn't been seen publicly in over a month and now he had appeared holding some strange man's hand, but it was still rather rude. It didn't sound as if anyone had realised who Draco was yet, but in any case the reporters would surely be there soon.

"Brace yourself," Harry leaned over to mutter in Draco's ear as they walked quickly toward the bookshop. "The reporters will be coming any moment now."

Draco blinked as a bright flash momentarily dazed him. Well then. The reporters had certainly arrived.

Harry squeezed his hand in reassurance, and dragged him through the doors of Flourish and Blotts. The reporters tried to follow them in, but the staff quickly moved to keep them out of the shop. That didn't stop the other customers (and some staff) from staring and gossiping, however.

"What section did you want to look in first?" Harry asked Draco, trying his best to ignore everyone else in the shop.

"Um...over here. Sorry, this is...distracting. Being stared at by everyone." He pulled Harry over to the tables with arithmancy books.

Harry shrugged. "You'll probably get used to it soon enough."

He watched as Draco looked over some of the books and let go of Harry's hand to pick one up and leaf through it.

"Didn't think you'd be interested much in arithmancy. I always got the impression it was rather...boring."

"Mmm, yes. It is generally thought of that way, but I'm working on a new potion and I believe...this may be the key. It's actually pretty satisfying once you get the hang of it," Draco responded somewhat distractedly as he skimmed the page.

That response had given Harry many more questions than it had answered, but he figured he could ask later. Draco seemed to be rather absorbed with the book at hand, so Harry stood and watched his eyes dart over the pages. He made somewhat exaggerated expressions whilst skimming through, which amused Harry. Right now his face was creased into a childish pout. Perhaps the book was turning out to be not quite what he was hoping for. He sighed and snapped it shut, quickly reaching for the one next to it, mumbling under his breath.

"Excuse me? Harry Potter?" Harry inwardly rolled his eyes. He knew that tone. It was someone who wanted a signature or a photograph or maybe just to squeal over how amazing he was. He turned with a fake smile.

A twenty-something witch stood, wringing her hands nervously. "I was just wondering if you could sign my book?"

Harry's face covered the entirety of the book cover, and he cringed when he saw it. "Oh, er, sure I guess. Have you got something to write with?"

She handed him a quill from her robe pocket, informing him that it was self-inking, and proffering the book excitedly. He signed it quickly and tried to bid her a courteous goodbye so he could leave before anyone else could get any ideas, but she interrupted him.

"Is it true that you're still single?"

Harry heard Draco snort and snap another book shut. He gritted his teeth and answered politely. "No," he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'm afraid I'm, er, off the market."

The woman's eyes widened. "Who—"

Draco butted in, ignoring her presence. "I'd like to check out upstairs." He grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him upstairs. 

Once out of sight, Harry sighed and relaxed his shoulders. "Thanks."

Draco shrugged as he looked over the spines of the books on the shelf. "No problem. I wanted to look upstairs anyway; none of those arithmancy books were telling me anything I didn't already know."

After nearly an hour and a half of Draco slowly inching along several sections, an abundance of tongue clucking and exasperated book-slamming, and plenty of unintelligible mumbling, Draco finally straightened and tucked two books under his arm.

"I think this is all I'm going to find." Harry nodded and suppressed a grin. He'd certainly think so — Draco had to have read half of the books in there by the way he'd been frantically flicking through them.

"You didn't want to look at any of the books?" Harry shook his head at Draco's question. He'd been plenty amused with watching Draco's ridiculous expressions as he'd looked at the books, plus he'd been approached by a few more fans.

As they walked toward the counter, Harry offered to pay for the books.

"Why? They're my books."

"I wouldn't want people to think I'm not a gentleman," Harry sort-of-joked. He didn't really care about that, but he _did_ have the urge to pay for the books and he couldn't think of another excuse.

Draco gave him a disbelieving look. "Well _I_ wouldn't want people to think a Malfoy needs someone else to pay for his things," he returned as he set the books on the counter. At the name Malfoy, the counter attendant had widened their eyes and looked more closely at Draco. Draco saw the moment the worker realised who he was, and quickly dropped his left arm to his side, turning the inside against his hip so it couldn't be seen. He watched the cashier's eyes dart quickly between him and Harry. They looked as if they wanted to refuse Draco service, but he was clearly with _Harry Potter_.

They slowly and silently rang up the books, and Draco gave them the money, deciding not to speak either. It was best not to push things.

Draco let out a breath when he and Harry finally turned away from the counter. "I think that's enough excitement for me today," he muttered.

"Apparate back to mine and you can go home from there?"

Draco nodded, and they stepped outside back into the reporters who had been dutifully waiting outside. Apparently they'd taken that time to compose what seemed like hundreds of questions, which were all being asked at once. Harry grabbed Draco's arm and drew him close before turning on the spot and Apparating them onto his front step.

"Well that was certainly...something," Harry laughed.

Draco nodded grimly. "Indeed. I think I'll take my leave now. I'd like to read through these books."

"Oh," Harry's face dropped slightly. He'd been hoping Draco would stick around a bit longer. "Okay. See you later then?"

"Ta." Draco gave a small wave and Apparated away.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. It had been quite a day. He went inside his house and slumped on the sofa. Yes, perhaps he'd better just stay here for a few hours.


	4. Chapter 4

"This is ridiculous!" Draco waved a copy of the morning's Prophet through the flames at Harry. He had firecalled rather early and Harry wasn't fully awake, so he grumbled a response that he was sure Draco would take for agreement.

"A whole front page dedicated to us and not a single tiny speculation that we're more than just friends."

"Well we're not," Harry yawned. Draco glared at him.

"That isn't the point! _They're_ not supposed to know that we're not. Honestly, how thick can they be? I basically told that fan in the shop, and you _said_ you were off the market. All they did with that was 'no it certainly can't be the bloke he's _holding hands with_. I wonder what lovely witch he's secretly been dating?' Honestly."

Harry sighed. "Well, we'll try again; it's not really that much of an issue. They'll get the point eventually."

Draco looked unwillingly mollified, which was quite an interesting expression to witness.

"Fine. I'll owl you later to set up more plans."

Harry nodded sleepily as Draco's face disappeared from the flames, and slowly dozed back off. 

He awoke at some point in the early afternoon and stretched carefully. It really wouldn't do to keep sleeping on the sofa in the condition his body was in — constantly plagued with aches and pains, that is.

Rubbing his shoulder, Harry shuffled into the kitchen and flicked a hand at the coffee pot to start it. He sat down at the table and finally looked at the Prophet. Ah, he should have guessed: a whole page dedicated to the writers' hysterics over the possibility of him having a secret girlfriend. 

To be fair, there was a _very_ small paragraph tucked away near the end speculating as to why he was with a new friend that some eyewitnesses had insisted was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Harry scoffed and waved his finished coffee over. Draco was surely less than happy with that. 

He hadn't been wrong, though — they seemed to have employed some serious mental gymnastics to blatantly ignore the most obvious answer. Even their picture-selves were holding hands. He briefly watched them as photo-Harry wrapped an arm around Draco, whilst photo-Draco sneered scathingly at the encroaching reporters.

Well, it was only a first attempt. The reporters may have collectively stuck their heads in the sand, but if this continued there was no way they could keep denying it.

◇◇◇

As it turned out, the papers _could_ keep denying it.

It had honestly gotten beyond ridiculous. Just the night before, after several other failed escapades, they had gone out on a date. A bona fide date — to a fancy restaurant with a private room and everything. They'd held hands across the table and Apparated back to Harry's place together, yet the next day the headlines speculated whether the two were new _business partners_. Harry genuinely wondered what could be going through any of their heads that they thought Harry was any sort of entrepreneur, or that any of that was normal behaviour for business partners.

Draco was not dealing well. He seemed personally offended by how willfully oblivious the papers were. Harry had now come to expect the daily hysterically exasperated firecalls from Draco.

It was a Saturday, so Harry felt completely justified in lying on his floor, cocooned in blankets, laughing at Draco's latest tirade.

"Come through to mine. Let's go get some ice cream or something — there's only so long they can keep denying it."

"You'd be surprised."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on, just come through so we can go on our _date_."

"Fine. But I expect chocolate fudge _and_ sprinkles."

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

Harry rolled out of the way as Draco stepped through into his living room and looked down at him with a poorly concealed smile.

"You look ridiculous. Get up and get dressed."

"I'll do what I like."

Draco heaved the most put-upon sigh, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"You're so dramatic."

"It's a talent."

Harry snorted. "Oh yeah, you'll be thrilled to hear this: so I talked to Ron and Hermione the other day—"

"Oh Merlin, this could go any number of directions, and I don't think I like any of them."

"They said they were surprised that we had apparently become _friends_ —"

" _Friends?!_ I thought Granger was supposed to be _smart!_ Sweet fucking _Merlin_ , I never thought it would be so hard to have a fake relationship."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, they're pretty thick."

Draco shook his head. "Go get dressed so we can go make out on some old person's lawn. That'd make things clear I bet."

"I'm sure it would, but that'll have to be a no from me," Harry said as he finally hauled himself off the floor and walked to his room with his blanket around him like a cape.

◇◇◇

They had found a small bench next to the windows inside the bustling ice cream parlour. Draco had gotten chocolate fudge and sprinkles on his cone, as promised, and was looking incredibly pleased about the whole thing. On the other side of the glass, reporters were watching and pictures were being taken, but Harry and Draco were pretending to ignore them (despite the whole thing actually being for their benefit).

Harry slung an arm around Draco's shoulders, and Draco turned to look at him. Glancing quickly at the press outside, he spoke in Harry's ear.

"If I do something somewhat, erm, sexually suggestive right now, is that going to bother you?"

"How suggestive?" Harry murmured back.

"Nothing too bad. Nothing completely inappropriate."

Harry shrugged, "Go for it, maybe they'll finally get that we're—"

He was cut off by Draco slowly wiping his thumb over his lips.

"You had some ice cream on your face," he explained, and then slowly sucked the ice cream off of his thumb whilst continuing to look Harry in the eyes.

Harry was frozen, his mind a jumble of thoughts.

"That should get the point across," Draco said lightly.

"Oh, erm, yeah." Harry laughed awkwardly.

There was a moment of silence as they continued to eat their ice cream, and Harry watched as Draco's Snitch tattoo fluttered around the top of his neck. He cleared his throat.

"Did you want to get out of here now?"

"What? But I haven't finished yet."

"You can eat it at my place, I'd just like to go now."

Draco eyed him shrewdly. "I see. Okay, let's go. Apparate or use the Floo?"

"Let's just Apparate."

Back at Harry's, Draco sat on the sofa, crunching on his ice cream cone in hopes of escaping the awkward silence that covered the room as soon as possible.

"So," he broke the silence, quickly eating the last of his cone, "I have some potions work to do, and I'm sure you'll be visiting St. Mungo's..." He trailed off.

Harry jolted slightly out of his apparent reverie. "Oh, yes, of course. I'll...see you tomorrow, I guess."

Draco nodded and grabbed a handful of Floo powder from Harry's mantel before throwing it into the fire. "3F Gloswell place!" He stepped in and was whirled away, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

He quickly decided he had better go to St. Mungo's, because alone with his incoherent thoughts was not something Harry wanted to be right now.

Yes, he'd spend a few hours at St. Mungo's, grab some takeaway on the way back, and call it an early night. Perfect.

◇◇◇

Unfortunately, when he got back to his house, a certain tetchy owl was waiting for him. Harry heaved a deep sigh and mentally prepared himself to sacrifice his dinner for a second time to that menace of an owl.

He stepped inside, grabbed one of his kebabs, and opened up the window whilst holding out the kebab like a peace offering. Bartholomew ruffled his feathers (presumably in indignance at being left outside), but seemed to accept the offering.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he managed to successfully retrieve the letter without injury.

> **I'm afraid I have a terrible habit of making too much food. Come over and help me eat this? I'm pretty sure my subconscious thinks I cook for four.**
> 
> **DM**

Well then. He couldn't say he'd ever imagined that Draco could cook. This could be interesting. Not that he actually believed for a second that Draco had 'accidentally' made too much food.

  
This was confirmed when he stepped through the Floo, and saw two plates of pasta on the table and an empty pot scrubbing itself in the sink. 'Cooking for four' indeed.

"Oh hi Harry, I wasn't sure if you'd come." Draco gestured toward the table for Harry to sit, as he went into the kitchen for drinks.

"Well I might not have if your owl hadn't eaten _my_ dinner. Again." He glanced about the room, but thankfully the bastardous owl was nowhere in sight — probably still helping itself to his kebabs. He really hoped it didn't drip sauce and grease all over his furniture.

"Well, always nice to know I'm the last option."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on, I was joking."

Draco set two wine glasses and a bottle of chilled white wine on the table. "You'd better be."

Harry laughed.

"So what's this? I didn't know you could cook."

"Yes, well, some of us get a bit bored with takeaways. It's pasta with vodka cream sauce — surely much more exciting than whatever you were going to have."

Harry ignored his barbs and tried the food. It was surprisingly good; he hadn't actually expected Draco to be very capable in the kitchen, since he'd had house-elves cooking everything for him for most of his life.

They finished the first bottle of wine fairly quickly, then two bottles turned into three, and before he knew it, Draco was pronouncing Harry absolutely unfit for Floo travel.

"I'm not drunk! It's just wine."

"That may be so, but if you've managed to get lost in the Floo several times whilst sober, I highly doubt it would be a good idea to try under the influence."

"I'll just Apparate then."

"You really are as dumb as you look. Are you trying to get yourself splinched? Just stay the night."

"'M not dumb," Harry mumbled.

"No, you're not," Draco agreed, sighing and walking off whilst muttering about Apparating under the influence.

He came back a minute later with a fluffy pillow and blanket, and Harry reached to take them from him. Draco frowned, pulling them back toward himself. "You're not sleeping on the sofa."

"I'm not taking your bed from you, Draco."

Draco gave him a patronising look. "I'm not going to make you sleep on the sofa with your shoulder."

"There's nothing wrong with my shoulder," Harry protested.

"Right, that's why you're always grabbing it in pain."

"Just sleep in the bed."

"The host generally gives the guest—"

"We can _both_ sleep in the bed."

"Why?"

"What do you mean _why?_ Because there's only one bed, and neither of us is going to let the other sleep on the sofa." Harry shrugged. "Ron and I've shared a bed loads of times."

"Yeah, but you and the weasel are weird."

"If you don't sleep in the bed, I'm sleeping on the floor."

"Fine. Merlin's beard, you are difficult."

Harry shrugged again, and followed Draco to his bedroom, immediately flopping onto the right side of the bed.

"You heathen."

"I'm tired," Harry replied, unbothered.

"Alright, well at least get under the covers then," Draco said, crawling in the other side and yanking at the blankets.

Harry tossed his glasses and wand onto the bedside table, and kicked his shoes off. Draco waved his wand lazily and the room went dark as Harry settled under the covers, almost immediately slipping into unconsciousness.

◇◇◇

He awoke to Draco clucking his tongue in annoyance. Harry had apparently curled up against Draco in his sleep and had an arm flung over his waist. Draco didn't seem to mind, as he'd stayed where he was, save for sitting up. He had a hand on the back of Harry's head stroking his hair as he read the Prophet with a frown.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he muttered.

"Anything good?" Harry asked, and Draco started.

"Oh, you're awake. No, not at all I'm afraid. Look at this."

He tilted the paper so that Harry could see the front page.

"They've tried to make us all 'buddy-pal-mate!' After that!"

Harry watched photo-Draco staring at photo-Harry and licking his finger. So they'd included that and hadn't said anything?

He wordlessly summoned his glasses from the bedside table and quickly skimmed the article. Merlin's beard, they actually hadn't.

"Let me move in with you," Harry blurted out.

Draco's hand paused its petting Harry's hair, and he set the paper back down on his lap. "Well that's a bit of a heavy start."

"I just think it'll help. I mean, how can they deny things after that?"

"You'd be surprised. They'll just say we've decided to become roommates." Draco sighed. "You really want to move in? Just for this charade?"

Harry shrugged. "We've been in the public eye for a few weeks now, so I dunno. I wouldn't mind living together, regardless of _why_."

"Hmm." Draco pursed his lips and surveyed Harry carefully. "I suppose you're right enough. Fine. And you don't think the papers will find it suspicious?"

"That's the whole thing though, we're trying to give the impression we've been secretly together for ages — and we wouldn't have even had to go to this stage so quickly if they could just get it through their thick heads that we're clearly _not_ supposed to be just _friends_."

"Maybe. I still think they'll just present it as roommates." He cleared his throat and removed his hand from Harry's head.

"Well we won't let them. I mean, it's a one bedroom flat — that doesn't leave much room for interpretation."

"Yeah, about that. What do you plan to do about the sleeping situation if you move in?"

Harry seemed unbothered. "We slept in the same bed last night. You don't have to agree if you don't want to, it was just a suggestion."

Draco thought for a moment. "Might as well, I suppose."

"Great. I'm gonna write an anonymous letter to the Prophet that I have 'inside info' that the famous Harry Potter is moving house." He rolled out of bed and stretched.

"Thought this through, have you?"

Harry just shrugged, and glanced warily at Bartholemew's open cage hanging in the window, where he sat preening himself. "Where's your parchment?"

Draco sighed and gestured toward his desk in the corner of the room. "I'm going to go make some breakfast." He waited for a moment, and then left Harry to his own devices.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite Draco's apartment technically being in Muggle London, the press appeared to care little. Inconspicuousness be damned if it meant getting the scoop on Harry Potter, apparently. Harry thought the Ministry should start keeping a watch on them if they were going to go about like this in front of Muggles, even horribly early on a Saturday morning.

"New completely platonic roommates moving in together," Draco mocked the reporters quietly, and Harry snickered.

They had been moving some of Harry's stuff inside — not that they couldn't have done it much more efficiently through the Floo Network, but then the press wouldn't have anything to report. Apparently none of the reporters were questioning them doing this the most difficult way possible.

Harry made a considering sound. "Actually, I'm sure they wouldn't phrase it quite like that. More like 'Wow, Harry Potter moving in with a new friend — they must be good buds!'"

Draco snorted, and was silently thankful they were finally done with this whole moving business. Moving things the Muggle way required physical labour, which was never going to be his forte.

The whole thing was such a farce anyway; Harry had already been living there for the past couple weeks. He'd set the date in the 'anonymous tip' to the Prophet a bit later to give them some time to figure things out. Not that it had really helped — they'd ended up winging everything anyway.

"I still don't know why you think this is going to change anything. They're surely just going to make it into another 'friends' thing." He shut the front door, knowing that wouldn't help much, considering his was the front, ground floor flat, so the press could see right in through the windows if they wished.

Harry made a frustrated noise. "Then we won't let them. We've been trying way too long at this, this is ridiculous."

"Well what do you want me to do, make out with you?" Draco said sarcastically.

Harry was silent.

"Oh. Oh Merlin, is that really your idea?"

"I don't know that we need to do all that," Harry laughed nervously. "Just kiss me. If you're okay with it, that is?"

Draco sighed. "I don't have much of a choice if we want them to ever catch on, do I?"

He quickly stepped forward and tilted his head down slightly to kiss Harry before he could overthink it. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders, slipping one hand into the back of his hair. He was certainly prepared for this show then, Draco thought.

Draco backed up a bit and broke away slightly to mutter, "Should probably get more in front of the window," before Harry was kissing him again. And then suddenly the crowd of reporters outside was the last thing Draco was thinking about, caught up in the feeling of Harry against him — focusing on the feel of his lips and how he felt under Draco's hands as he slid a hand down his chest and over his back.

Draco felt the cold glass of the windowpane abruptly pressed against his back, and he grabbed the windowsill to steady himself as he was shoved violently back into reality. Right, this was just a performance.

He pushed against Harry's chest and Harry pulled away slightly.

"I rather think they've gotten the point," Draco said, with much less conviction than he'd intended.

Harry shoved a hand roughly through his hair and caught his breath. "Yeah, sure."

He looked a bit dazed, but Draco supposed he was realising the gravity of what they'd just done and the shitestorm in the papers that was sure to follow.

"Let's go hide in the bedroom so they'll go away," Draco suggested.

Harry nodded mutely, but stayed where he was. Draco made as if to move, and Harry blushed, finally stepping away so Draco was no longer trapped against the glass.

"Sorry," he muttered, and Draco simply nodded.

◇◇◇

Draco laid on the sofa, hands over his face, thinking of all the reasons everything he was currently doing in life was the Worst Idea Ever™.

Firstly, letting Harry further and further into his life? Horrible, foolish, the worst. Letting him move in was possibly the most ill-advised decision he'd ever made — not because he didn't enjoy living with Harry and spending so much time with him, but because he _did_ enjoy it so much. He was just glad he'd gotten off work a few hours before Harry had said he'd be back from St. Mungo's, so that he could have his mental meltdown pity party (or whatever this was) without him around.

Agreeing to this whole pretend-dating thing was a ridiculous plan from the beginning. He'd agreed because he thought he'd be able to gain something he wanted (re-entrance to wizarding society) with very few drawbacks. Unfortunately, whilst he'd expected to feel pretty ambivalent about the whole thing (excepting, perhaps, finding the pretending funny), he hadn't been expecting _this_. He had failed to account for just how very charming Harry could be, and dammit, he couldn't pretend he wasn't affected.

Draco _knew_ that this was just Harry going through a rebellious phase, and that he didn't really have feelings for Draco, but it could be so easy to fall into the acting. He knew he was a fool for letting himself flirt so shamelessly with Harry under the guise of it being just for the press, but he had been even more foolish for letting Harry talk him into actually kissing him. For the last eight or so hours, throughout his entire shift, all his brain had seemed capable of was replaying it in his head, wanting more, and telling himself how stupid he was for it all.

It didn't matter. Soon enough the papers would be publishing all about it. There would certainly be some sort of uproar in tomorrow morning's Prophet. It was likely to be wildly over-sensationalised, and it would only snowball from there in the days after. With all that, the Weasleys and everyone else would give Harry the reaction he wanted, and they'd be able to break it off, since Harry would have finally gotten his message across. Then Draco would be free to distance himself. He needed to get a breath of fresh air and remove himself from these horrid feelings, and hopefully never think about Harry again.

Alright, so maybe that last part wasn't incredibly realistic, but hey, weren't people supposed to strive for the ideal?

Draco resolutely ignored the part of his brain telling him that distancing himself was quite the opposite of his actual ideal scenario.

He huffed and got off the sofa, hoping to turn his mind elsewhere. Perhaps he could do a little potions work.

The tiny room that was meant to be a cupboard looked even more sad when Draco didn't really have his heart set on brewing. It was one of the few things that sometimes made him miss that god-awful manor — there was just no bloody space in this flat to have a proper potions setup.

Draco pulled up one of his dining room chairs and unfolded the little card table he kept leaned against the wall. He began pulling down jars of ingredients off of the crowded shelves more on muscle memory than an actual plan for what he was going to be doing.

Halfway through chopping up the pickled salamander tongue (on the very edge of the table to accommodate for the large cauldron taking up most of the space) he sliced his finger and flinched, throwing the knife down and looking at it accusingly.

Apparently he wouldn't be doing any brewing today then, if this was to be taken as any sort of sign. He quickly swept the salamander tongue back into its jar with his uninjured hand, and left the rest of it to clean up later. Draco was still angry at the knife and the idea of potions in general — sure, it wasn't the most rational, but it had pissed him off, and he'd be damned if he did anything to encourage it.

He went to wash his hands off, and flopped back onto the sofa. So, right back where he'd begun: bored and annoyed.

Bartholemew screeched from the other room. Yeah. Draco felt that way too.

◇◇◇

He realised he must have dozed off when he awoke to gentle fingers carding through his hair.

"I didn't want to wake you, but it's getting late and I thought you should eat something."

"Did you get takeaway?" Draco sniffed. Whatever it was it smelled good, and he was starving.

"Regardless of what you may believe, I do actually know how to cook. Takeaways are just easier."

Draco rolled off the sofa and wandered over to survey the kitchen.

"Smells nice. You actually cooked this?"

Harry rolled his eyes and pushed past him into the kitchen. " _Yes_ , now move so I can actually put it on plates."

Once the food was on the table, Draco picked up his bread and tore a piece off, unsure how to eat the food. Was he supposed to put it on the bread? Was he supposed to eat it with a fork and have the bread separately? Was he supposed to try and dip it?

"Er, what is this?"

Harry laughed. "You sound so concerned, just eat."

Draco put a bit of the spinach (or, at least he was _fairly_ sure it was spinach) mixture on the bread and ate it once he saw Harry doing the same. He didn't know what the hell was in it, but it was quite nice.

"Saag paneer."

"What?"

Harry sighed. "It's called saag paneer."

"Oh, it's good. Do you usually cook like this?"

Harry shrugged. "Honestly it's one of like six things I actually know how to make."

"So not just eggs, toast, and sandwiches?"

"Pretty much," he laughed. "I only learned how to make it because Sirius used to talk about how much he missed my grandmother's cooking. This was his favourite, so I thought I'd at least look it up and give it a go."

Well that was pretty depressing. Draco wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"I'm reasonably sure I didn't have all this stuff just lying around my kitchen?" he finally said, trying to steer the conversation away from all the things Harry never got to experience because everybody around him had died too soon.

Harry snorted. "Not nearly. I went grocery shopping once I got home and saw you were asleep, so obviously not going to cook."

"I'm impressed — buying actual ingredients at an actual shop." He saw Harry shake his head, and quickly continued, "Seriously though, this is really good."

Harry smiled widely, and, whilst Draco knew he was prone to being dramatic, he didn't think he was exaggerating _overly_ much when he thought he would quite literally let himself be subjected to the cruciatus curse if it made Harry smile like that again.

As Draco laid in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling and listening to Harry's even breathing, he tried to get a bit of a handle on his thoughts. They, of course, had different ideas, and the main thing they kept bringing to his attention was just how difficult it was to pretend not to be affected by Harry when he was just so incredibly _nice_.

He had cooked dinner because he'd seen that Draco was tired, he always made sure that Draco ate and got plenty of sleep, and he never woke him up harshly, even when Draco was going to be late. He'd always stroke his arm or his neck, or pet his hair until Draco slowly woke up, instead of jolting awake. Draco didn't know how Harry knew — or maybe he didn't and was just that nice — but whenever he was woken up suddenly he would always be flooded with adrenalin and start to panic before realising it was just a regular morning. He'd smashed the ridiculous Muggle alarm clock he'd gotten years ago. He hadn't even had it for a week.

Now that Draco thought about it, when he'd gone to bed, none of his mess from earlier had been in the hallway. Just another thing to add to the list. Saint Potter indeed.

Draco thought he should by all accounts be irritated by Harry's behaviour, and he sort of was, but the rest of him just found it endearing, which he was also sickened by. He had no business thinking such...soft things about other people.

Harry rolled over in his sleep, curling against Draco's side, and Draco's eyes finally started to droop, comforted by the warmth and closeness.

Well, perhaps he could wait until tomorrow to continue stewing on it all.


	6. Chapter 6

True to Draco's predictions, the next morning's Prophet was absolutely wild. He was just glad it was Sunday so he and Harry could go over all the publications and figure out where to go from there, now that their 'dating' was established to the public.

Honestly, Draco thought the Prophet's front page was almost laughable with how frantic it sounded.

**SAVIOUR'S NEW 'LOVE AFFAIR': FORMER RIVAL AND DEATH EATER** ****

The picture was unmistakably him — with his flower-covered Dark Mark pressed against the window pane where he'd gripped the sill for balance, there was no arguing it was anyone else.

Photo-Draco turned his head to look straight out at him and winked. 

He frowned. Merlin, he hoped photo-him wasn't being quite so saucy on everyone else's front page; they all already hated him quite enough.

"I'm sorry, I wish they'd stop all that 'Death Eater' shite — everyone knows full well that you were acquitted." Harry's brow furrowed as he read through the article. 

Draco scoffed, not hurt by it. He'd fully been expecting all of this. "Oh yes, but that doesn't mean they agree with the verdict. I rather think most of the wizarding world — in Britain at least — would like to personally stick me on a boat to Azkaban."

Harry's frown deepened, and he ran a hand over Draco's left arm, fingers trailing over the faded mark.

"It isn't right, and they shouldn't print blatantly false information. It doesn't matter if people agree or not; you were acquitted, and I'm glad you were. You never deserved _Azkaban_. You were a kid too, and I'm not confident others wouldn't have done the same things if put in your place."

"Thank you, Harry," he said quietly, and then cleared his throat, straightening up. "Well the war's in the past. This fun little scandal is in the present, so what's the plan from here?"

Harry shrugged. "See how everybody reacts now that the news is out, go out on another date tonight to confirm it."

As if on cue, they heard the fireplace splutter to life in the living room, and Ron's voice rang out. "Harry?"

"Welp. This should be fun." Harry rolled out of bed and headed out of the room.

"Hey Ron," he yawned. "What's up?"

" _What's up?_ " Ron asked, incredulously. "Harry, I woke up to a frantic firecall from mum, showing me this morning's Prophet is covered with a picture of you and the ferret full-on snogging! You don't think there's anything to be explained there?"

Harry shrugged, sitting down cross-legged on the floor. "Yeah, just excited to finally be moving in."

He thought he _probably_ shouldn't be enjoying winding Ron up so much by playing it so casual, but...it _was_ pretty entertaining.

"What? Mate, are you...okay? Like, did he slip you something? This is all so...where did this come from? We didn't even know you two were," he paused, seemingly unsure what to call it, "together?"

"We've been dating for months, and we've been open about it since we first appeared in the Prophet; it's not _our_ fault nobody seemed to want to take it seriously as an obviously romantic relationship."

"But, Harry, you...are you sure you're alright?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Draco didn't give me a bloody love potion or something."

"But you...why didn't you tell us? I mean I didn't even know you we're into blokes."

"What?" Harry looked at him like he was entirely off his rocker. "You _all_ know I am; I distinctly remember having several conversations about it."

"Yeah, but that was," Ron shrugged, "school days, you know? I mean it's not the same now we're out in the world."

"Isn't it? I'm just supposed to miraculously grow out of it? Look, I'm glad you and George found Hermione and Angelina, but — if you hadn't noticed — _I_ was single, so why are witches suddenly the only option?"

"Well, I'm not — it's just...blokes and other blokes isn't usually like anything _serious_ , and now that we're out of school, we're meant to be, you know, taking things seriously. You can't marry a bloke, so..."

"Oh, I _can't_?" Harry challenged. "Because I'm pretty sure I can do whatever the hell I want if I decide I want to get married. Are you seriously telling me the minute you turned eighteen you stopped finding men attractive?"

Ron blushed. "I was already with Hermione!"

"Yeah, okay, but your eyes still work!"

Ron shrugged. "I mean, I guess I still do, but it's like, it doesn't _matter_ , you know? Like, I'd never marry one, and I love Hermione anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"Well _I'm_ not engaged, and _I_ don't have a problem with marrying a bloke if that's who I like, so that doesn't really apply, now does it?"

"You really would?"

"Why not? I might. I might end up with anyone, I might end up with no one. Why can't I be with a man if that's who I end up falling for?"

"I mean, I guess." Ron chewed his lip. "I guess it's just we don't really see it a lot."

"Yeah, I guess. That's not really _my_ problem though."

"Guess not," Ron agreed hesitantly. He fell quiet for a moment. "Can we meet... _Draco_ , then? Me and Hermione? I mean we knew you two were hanging out, so he must've changed a lot, but it'd be nice to see, you know? Kind of weird for you to be dating someone for months and your best mates haven't even really met him, right?"

Harry smiled. "I'll ask him. I think you'll like him, despite what a prat he was in school."

"Talking about me?" Draco asked, from behind him, and Harry turned.

"Yeah," Harry laughed.

"Well you're not wrong about me having been a royal prat," he said with a wry grin. "Hello Weasley," he said pleasantly to Ron's face in the flames.

"Er, hi," he replied.

"Well I'm just heading off to work," he turned back to Harry. "I left a plate for you on the table."

"Oh thank you, you didn't have to." Harry broke into that breathtaking smile, and Draco couldn't help but smile back.

"I'll be back around five," he said, dropping a kiss on the top of Harry's head for Weasley's benefit. Best to make it look real and all.

"I don't get a proper goodbye kiss?" Harry asked as he turned to leave.

Oh goddammit, Harry and his theatrics were going to be the fucking death of him. He let out a sigh, and turned back, crouching and taking Harry's chin gently in his hand to kiss him on the lips.

Great, now he was going to be thinking about that at work all day.

He felt his Snitch tattoo darting over his stomach in what Draco would _like_ to think was commiseration, but was more likely the result of his internal stomach flutter not being deemed sufficiently torturous. How rude.

Harry grinned when he pulled back, and Draco huffed. "Okay, I've seriously got to go, I can't be late."

"See you at five!" Harry called as Draco closed the door.

Harry turned back to the fire, still smiling. "I'm going to go eat my breakfast before it gets cold, but I'll ask him tonight about meeting up with you guys, yeah?"

"Uh...yeah, great," Ron answered a bit distractedly. His forehead was creased like he was thinking about a particularly complicated problem. "I'll catch you later then."

◇◇◇

"Wear Muggle clothes," Draco suggested with a grin. "You want to cause a ruckus, right?"

Harry was sitting on the bed, staring at the open wardrobe.

He wrinkled his nose. "The only ones I really have are secondhand and don't fit too well. Don't even know why I keep them, honestly."

"You can wear some of mine, we're close enough in size. I'm sure I have a t-shirt that can accommodate those arms of yours."

Harry laughed. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, deadly," Draco said sombrely, digging into one of the bottom drawers of the bureau.

He shook out a black shirt with a snap, and held it up. "How do you think this will look on the front page tomorrow?"

"What's that pattern meant to be?" Harry asked, looking at the spiky white squiggles.

"Album cover," Draco said, tossing the shirt at him. "One of the first albums I sold at the shop, actually."

He averted his gaze to keep himself from staring whilst Harry changed into the shirt.

"Feels a bit tight."

It was stretched nicely over Harry's chest and the tops of his arms. Draco tried to keep his tone neutral. "It's supposed to fit like that. It looks good." 

'Good' was an insult, it looked hot as hell. 

But firstly, Draco wasn't supposed to _actually_ be crushing on Harry, and secondly, _what_ had it come to that Draco was getting worked up over someone in a _t-shirt_? This was ridiculous. He'd be lucky if he got out of this thing with Harry with his sanity even remotely intact.

"If you say so. Trousers?"

Draco smirked. "Depends on how adventurous you're feeling about those."

"Do I want to know?" Harry asked warily.

Draco turned away, digging through the drawers. "Thoughts on leather?"

Harry gave a choked laugh. "Oh Merlin, let's stick with jeans."

He caught the black pair Draco tossed at him and held them up.

"These look...slim."

Draco scoffed. "Well they're not meant to be _baggy_."

Harry still looked doubtful.

"Try them on," Draco urged. "If you can see your willy they're too tight, but otherwise they're fine."

"Merlin," Harry muttered, shucking off his pyjama bottoms and pulling on the jeans. "The things I let you talk me into."

They weren't as tight as he had feared, though, merely fitted. He crossed his arms. "Well?"

Draco shoved the drawer shut and looked back. Oh, he might actually die tonight. Sweet Salazar, Harry looked good enough to eat.

He nodded and held out a belt. "Good. You can wear some of my dragonskin boots too."

Harry sighed. "It's going to be obvious I'm wearing your clothes, isn't it?"

"Well, are we giving them something to report or not?" 

It would at least be something for Draco to remember when this was over soon. This may very well be their last date; he may as well try to make it worth it.

They went to a sit-in wizarding bakery in Reading. 

Of course, it didn't take long for the reporters to find them, but they weren't allowed actually into the shop. That didn't stop them from crowding about the windows snapping photos and taking notes, though.

Draco allowed himself to stare at Harry, taking him in as much as possible whilst he still could; it would only look like he was as lovesick as he was meant to be in the pictures. Harry would simply think he was acting well.

"So just how disgustingly coupley do we want to make this?" Harry asked lowly.

"Oh, definitely high on the scale. If you're making noise why not go loud?"

Harry laughed. "True." He pulled their hands, which were already intertwined on top of the table, up toward him and pressed a kiss to the back of Draco's.

"Well that's a _tiny_ start," Draco teased.

"Oh? Not enough?" He cut a forkful of his cake and held it to Draco's mouth to feed it to him.

Draco smiled as he swallowed. "Hmm, I'll never say no to chocolate. I suppose it's _something_." He leaned further toward Harry and hooked their ankles together under the table.

"Well, let's see what the expert's got then?" Harry challenged.

Draco swiped a finger through the cream cheese frosting on his red velvet cake. "Oh dear, I'm so clumsy," he said sarcastically. "Help me clean this off, will you?" He tilted his hand toward Harry's face, elbow resting on the table.

Harry's eyes sparkled with amusement as he, never one to back down from a dare, leant forward, holding Draco's gaze, and licked the frosting from his finger.

"Is that your best?" He asked Draco.

"Maybe," he said, popping the finger into his own mouth to clean off the rest of the frosting. "Maybe not." He let go of Harry's hand and ran his hand up Harry's arm, stroking his fingers over his bicep.

"That kind of tickles."

"Does it?" Draco asked, taking a sip of his tea. He slipped a finger up to trace back and forth across the skin just under the sleeve.

Harry pushed his plate to the side, reaching with his free hand to push back some of the hair that had fallen into Draco's face. "Kiss me," he whispered, and Draco smiled.

He let his hand fall to the back of Draco's neck, pulling him in to seal their lips together briefly. Harry pulled back slightly and licked his lips. "Sweet," he commented, and Draco burst into laughter. Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling and pulling him forward again to taste that laughter.

Draco pulled back, still chuckling. "We're in a bakery, let's not traumatise the workers."

"I suppose they've gotten the point already," Harry agreed.

"More importantly, I'm not going to waste this delicious cake," Draco said, moving back to hold Harry's hand, giving it a squeeze.

Harry pulled his plate back toward him as well. "Too true."

◇◇◇

The next morning when he awoke, Harry rolled over, and silently watched Draco reading the paper. He looked so soft in the morning light, just having awoken, his hair in messy, fluffed up waves. 

Harry smiled and thought it was maybe possible he could become a morning person. He put his hand over the newspaper to steal Draco's attention. 

Draco glanced over at him, and he scooted up the bed, and then froze for a split second as he realised he had been intending to give Draco a kiss. He quickly recovered, and scooted up to sitting, wordlessly summoning his glasses and clearing his throat. 

"Anything good?" He asked, looking down at the paper.

Fuck, he hoped Draco hadn't noticed his little slip. He didn't quite know what to make of it himself.

He had _wanted_ to kiss Draco, sure, but was that just because it was becoming a habit? No, he knew that wasn't it, or at least not all of it. Looking back, he had — oh _no_ , he had fancied Draco for a _while_ now.

Oh Merlin, he'd gone and started falling for the guy he was in a fake relationship with. Probably the one person he had no chance in hell with. And how had he not noticed until now?

"It's fun, I'll say that," Draco said, tilting the paper so he could read as well. "So far they've not-so-subtly implied I probably drugged you three times. I'm about halfway down the page."

Harry frowned. "That's messed up, they need to stop pretending you're the enemy or something."

Draco just shrugged. "It'll be bad for me for a bit, and then hopefully it'll get better."

"Not to be all 'I'm the saviour of the wizarding world,' but you'd think they'd trust my judgement and ability to defend myself a bit more."

"They think they're watching out for you. They want to be able to pay you back somehow."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, but it's stupid."

"Yeah, well." Draco laid his head on Harry's shoulder. "You should probably get a move on if you don't want to be late for work. Should be interesting to see what Zylphia has to say, at least."

"I don't wanna go in," Harry groaned. "Let's just stay in bed and never leave."

"Hmm, I admire the all-or-nothing approach, but something tells me that would be a bad idea."

"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhh. Fine."

He reluctantly slid out of bed. "When will you be home today?"

"Oh I'm off today, and I don't intend on leaving the house."

"Alright — ah shite! I knew I was forgetting something. I was supposed to ask you about meeting up with Ron and Hermione, I meant to ask you last night."

Draco blinked. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Er, yeah? Why not?"

"Well aren't we meant to be breaking up soon? And they're your best friends, what if they notice?"

Harry hadn't thought about all that. He had just really wanted them to meet (or, _re_ -meet, he supposed) Draco — he wanted them to like him as much as he did. 

Well, on second thought, maybe not _quite_ as much.

"They wanted to meet you again, you know, fresh start?" he finally responded, avoiding the (pretty valid) points Draco had brought up.

Draco wavered. "I suppose...you don't think it'll be a problem?"

"They won't suspect anything, I promise." Harry actually could _not_ promise that where Hermione was concerned, but he'd take the risk. "Please?"

"Oh alright. My next day off is Saturday, why don't we have them come over. I don't really want to do this in public, just in case."

Harry beamed.

Draco sighed, realising yet again how utterly buggered he was. Harry had him wrapped around his finger and didn't even realise it. He dearly hoped this didn't blow up in their faces.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains explicit sexual content. Starts after the 3rd break (◇◇◇), if you want to skip.

Zylphia didn't comment on their newly-published relationship at all, which Harry was grateful for, although it did put him a little on edge not to know what she was thinking. He'd seen yesterday's Prophet peeking out from behind the register when he'd come in, so he knew she'd read it.

Harry cleared his throat, as he came up to the front of the shop, ready to leave for the day after cleaning up.

"It's not real, you know."

Zylphia pointed her wand at the sign on the door to flip it to 'CLOSED'.

"And just what is it that's not real, if you don't mind filling me in," she asked, leaning back in her chair behind the counter.

Harry blushed. Right. She was always reminding him not to start conversations in the middle, because she was 'not any sort of legilimens, and couldn't be paid enough for it if I was'.

"The story in the paper. Me and Draco. I just thought I'd tell you, since it didn't seem fair to lie to you too, since you're friends with both of us. It's not like you're likely to go running to the press with it."

She turned and gave him a hard look. 

"Is that so. So why have you two cooked up this elaborate scheme, then?"

Harry shrugged. "It was Draco's idea, really. Get people to stop treating me like I'm some sort of perfect, untouchable saviour, and stop treating him like a pariah."

Zylphia snorted and shook her head. "A couple of thick-headed idiots, the both of you."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said. You know, most employers would start wondering about your character, with all these lies you seem to like."

Harry balked. "Well— I mean, the glamours are for privacy, that hardly counts— !"

She laughed. "I'm just messing with you, I know why you do it. Doesn't mean I think this special 'plot' of yours makes a lick of sense, though. Did it ever occur to the two of you that this sort of thing isn't the first thing most people would think of to solve their problems? He could have just asked you on a date like a normal wizard."

"It's not like that! We're really just friends, you know that. And yeah, I know it all sounds like a stupid scheme, but I think it's the best chance either of us have for getting what we want."

"Uh- _huh_ ," Zylphia said, not sounding like she believed him in the slightest.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Don't say it like that. I know what you're thinking, but it really isn't like that." He looped his scarf around his neck, and pulled on his gloves. "Now can I go home, or do you want to meddle in my personal affairs a bit more?"

She snorted again. " _Home_ , hm? You mean to that one-bedroom flat with Draco?"

Harry glared at her, and stuck his chin out defiantly. "Yes. _Home_. To the one-bedroom flat with Draco."

"Mhm. Just checking."

"You know, I really don't like you sometimes."

Zylphia's mouth ticked up at the corner. "Just pointing out the obvious." She made a shooing motion at him with her hand. "Go on then, head home if you like."

"See you tomorrow morning." Harry waved and let himself out of the shop, Apparating back to Draco's apartment with a sigh.

She didn't have to act like it was _so_ ridiculous. It had made sense in the moment when Draco had laid it all out, and it seemed like it might be working. With Ron, at least. Maybe.

Anyway, there was no chance Draco actually had feelings for him, as much as Zylphia liked to insinuate — not when this was all just about gaining re-entrance to wizarding society for him. There was no reason to think this was going to get any more complicated than it was, even with Harry's newly-realised crush. He could control himself just fine.

◇◇◇

By the time Saturday finally rolled around, Harry found that he was surprisingly anxious. He hadn't thought he would be, but now that it was here and Draco was pacing like a caged animal, and Ron and Hermione were set to be arriving any minute...yeah, anxious was a bit of an understatement.

There was just so much that could go _wrong_.

What if they really didn't like Draco, even as much as he'd changed? He couldn't really blame Hermione for that — he wasn't sure how he'd feel about it if he were her. Obviously Draco didn't _still_ think and say awful things about Muggle-borns, but that didn't change the fact that he _had_. And the Weasley's had a full on _blood feud_ with the Malfoys, and — oh Merlin, this was a truly awful idea, wasn't it.

At least he'd remembered to adjust the befuddlement charms around the flat that kept the reporters away, so that his friends could actually _find_ the place.

"Please tell me you didn't forget to tell me about any food allergies or something," Draco fretted, still pacing the kitchen and stopping to check the oven every time he passed.

"None that I know of."

"What if they don't like the food? They already kind of hate me. Should I have made a second option? I mean it's aubergine parmigiana, that's fairly inoffensive, right?"

"I can personally assure you they will love it. Your cooking is great, and the surest way into Ron's good books is through his stomach."

"Ugh, but you _have_ to say nice things, you're stuck here with me."

Harry laughed. "I'm not a _hostage_. Come on, I'm not lying to you — _I_ chose to move in. Do you think I'd do that if I knew I'd have to choke down gross food every night?"

He probably would have, actually, but he didn't have to admit that.

"You have awful taste though," Draco muttered.

Harry groaned and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Draco." He snatched his wrist as Draco paced by, and pulled him around so Harry could put his hands on his shoulders and make stern eye contact. "Chill out. It's going to be fine. Your nervousness is infectious, and I'd rather not overthink everything, thank you."

"How very kind," Draco drawled. "Good to know you care."

Harry rolled his eyes again. "Of course I _care_ , it's just— !" a knock on the door interrupted him.

"Well, _I told you so_ if they still hate me," Draco mumbled as Harry went to get the door.

"I'll be sure to remember that," he returned sarcastically, and opened the door. "Hey guys!"

"Lover's quarrel?" Ron asked, and Hermione stepped on his foot. 

" _Hi_ Harry! What Ron meant was: the door is pretty thin and we _may_ have overheard something — not that we were listening!"

Harry snorted and stepped back to let them in. "It's fine, it wasn't really anything serious."

Hermione lowered her voice, clutching the bottle of wine they'd brought tightly about the neck. "Okay good, because I'm _trying_ to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I really don't think I could handle that."

Harry closed the door and hugged her, trying not to laugh. "And I appreciate it, I really do."

He let go of her and embraced Ron. "Please don't be too mean. He's trying."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone think I'm gonna attack your boyfriend? Hermione gave me a whole talk too — it's not like I'm the only one here who's punched him!"

Harry realised that, in fact, _all_ of them had punched Draco at some point. Ah. That was sure to make Draco feel comfortable, he thought sarcastically. "Fair enough." 

He turned away and started leading them to the dining room, where they could see Draco pulling a dish out of the oven.

"Ooh is that chicken parmesan?" Hermione asked. "It smells delicious! We brought some white wine that should go well with it."

"Aubergine," Draco corrected. "Thank you."

"Draco doesn't eat meat," Harry offered, to fill the silence, as Draco searched for a corkscrew in one of the drawers.

"Oh? I'd love to talk to you about creature's rights, if that's something you're into — you know, animal welfare and all?" Hermione chimed in again. And truly bless her, she was really trying so hard to get along with Draco, and Harry couldn't be more relieved.

Ron leaned toward Harry, as Draco and Hermione continued talking, and Draco placed the baking dish in the centre of the table. Before Ron could say anything though, Harry shot him a look and shook his head. He had a suspicion that he was going to say something inappropriate inquiring after whether certain... _acts_ were considered vegetarian.

Which was, of course, confirmed when Ron grinned and said, "Don't tell me you didn't think it too."

Harry kicked him in the ankle under the table.

◇◇◇

Dinner was finally finished, and things had gone pretty smoothly so far, if Harry did say so himself. 

Hermione had talked a lot with Draco about her work in the Ministry pushing for more creature's rights and protections, and then Harry had asked if they had any news about how wedding planning was going, which led both Ron and Hermione into long rants about how much work it was — not that they weren't excited! 

Then Hermione had casually mentioned that 'we have plenty of tips on wedding planning if you need any,' which had caused Draco to flush scarlet and stutter, wide-eyed, that 'I don't think that will be necessary.' Harry had tried very hard not to laugh at that, knowing full well that she had only said it to watch Draco squirm.

Now, Ron and Hermione were sitting on the sofa in the living room, waiting for Draco to bring back drinks. Which Harry had taken the opportunity to excuse himself to go 'help him' with.

He had tried not to worry too much earlier about Hermione's perceptiveness and the possibility of her seeing through the lie of their 'relationship', but he was starting to get a little uneasy. Hermione could just be so hard to read when she wanted to be, and he had no idea whether she was onto them or not.

If there was any chance of fooling Hermione, they really had to be convincing. Or, that was Harry's rationale for this anyway.

Draco was just trying to tread water, so to speak.

"Is this completely necessary for them to believe we're in a relationship?" Draco couldn't keep himself from asking lowly, as Harry backed him against the sink. He swore he could feel his heart pounding in his ears, and the traitorous Snitch beating its wings on his throat certainly wasn't helping matters.

"We're supposed to be madly in love, Draco. We can barely keep our hands off of each other."

"Hah, yeah." He hoped Harry didn't notice how his voice shook. Yes, madly in love and barely able to keep his hands off of him wasn't as far from reality as Draco would like it to be.

And then Harry was kissing him, and he forgot to overthink the situation he'd gotten himself into. They kissed slowly, and one of Draco's hands crept under Harry's shirt as the other buried itself in Harry's wild curls.

Harry made a small noise and pressed even closer, digging his fingers in where they pressed into Draco's back as he deepened their kisses. Draco felt Harry's hand trace over the side of his hip to the top of his thigh, and he moved his other leg forward, making Harry groan quietly as it pressed against his groin.

"Fuck," he mumbled, pressing his own thigh against Draco and kissing him again, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and biting.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, coming around the corner.

They jumped apart, but not quickly enough. 

"Oh, sorry! Didn't mean to...I was just wondering where you went," she said, blushing.

She made a hasty retreat back to the living room, and Harry and Draco stared at each other.

Draco broke the silence, clearing his throat and fixing his hair. "So that was…"

"We can talk about this later," Harry said, running a hand through his own hair and smoothing down his shirt.

"Right." Draco grabbed the drinks and brought them back out to the living room, Harry following behind, shooting his friends a sheepish look.

"So, uh, what's the latest news in the Auror department?" Harry asked Ron.

◇◇◇

Ron and Hermione had left, and they'd gotten ready for bed, and still Draco hadn't brought up what had happened in the kitchen. Harry decided to take the leap as they settled into bed.

"That...erm, earlier, what happened, that was...nice."

Draco looked surprised. "Er, yeah. I suppose it was." That hadn't been quite what he was expecting, but he didn't dare get his hopes up.

"And I was thinking...it's not like either of us can date whilst this is going on, and I mean you don't have to, just if you wanted, it might be nice to sometimes…"

Draco bit his lip. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Harry shrugged. "I mean we're already pretend-dating, it can't really hurt."

Oh it definitely could, Draco thought. But that wasn't going to stop him from agreeing, even if it was a stupid, stupid idea, and they would surely be breaking up soon anyway.

"Yeah, I suppose." There was a small silence, and Draco braced himself. "Could I kiss you now?" he asked. May as well seize the moment whilst he had it. 

" _Yeah_ ," Harry said, relieved, and then he was pulling Draco towards him.

It was different, kissing when it wasn't for show, when there was nobody around to interrupt.

Harry carded his fingers through Draco's hair as they slowly explored each other's mouths, and Draco's hand slipped up his shirt again, settling in the dip of his waist, his thumb tracing light circles on the side of Harry's ribs.

Draco tried to shift himself up slightly for a better angle, and made a startled noise into Harry's mouth as Harry simply pulled Draco on top of him. Harry chuckled and Draco bit his lip in reproval.

He could feel Harry smiling against his lips as he slid his hands up the back of Draco's shirt, over his back, and then back down. His hands briefly trailed over Draco's arse, running down the backs of his thighs and hitching his legs up further.

Draco moaned as his half-hard cock ground against Harry's.

"Good?" Harry murmured. Draco seemed alright with this, but they hadn't actually discussed where the line was.

"Oh, _very_ good." Draco began to kiss over his jaw, down his throat. He twisted his fingers in Harry's hair, pulling his head back, and Harry gave a breathy sigh, digging his fingers into Draco's thighs.

Draco bit down on the base of his neck, and happily got to sucking a mark when Harry's hips bucked up against him.

"Fuck, Draco, _yeah_ ," Harry gasped.

He skimmed his teeth up Harry's neck, before pulling back to admire the love bite. He wasn't able to admire for long, though, before Harry was seeking out his mouth again and flipping them over.

Harry pressed down against Draco as he slid their tongues together, and he felt Draco wrap his legs around him, pulling him harder against him. Draco rolled his hips, and Harry scrabbled at Draco's shirt, pushing it up out of the way to trace his hands over the smooth skin.

"Ah fuck that tickles," Draco gasped.

"Hmm?"

"The blasted dragon," Draco panted, catching his breath. "I don't think he's a fan of you."

Harry looked down at Draco's stomach where he'd pushed up his shirt and, indeed, the top half of a rather large, rather grumpy looking dragon covered his left side almost up to the ribs. The dragon was thrashing about and blowing smoke out of its nose, which made Draco let out a small laugh with every puff.

"He's gorgeous," Harry said, tracing a hand over its back. He looked back up at Draco. "Does he have a name?"

"No. Don't mind him, really. He's not fond of strangers — well, strangers to _him_ , obviously."

Harry grinned, unable to resist kissing Draco again. "He should definitely have a name. Looks like a Herbert," he said, when he pulled back.

" _Herbert?_ " Draco asked incredulously. And then— "No. You're not naming _any_ of my tattoos."

Harry continued stroking gentle fingers over Draco's side, along the spine of the dragon. It was no longer stamping and thrashing about and blowing smoke, but it did have _quite_ a displeased glare.

"Oh yeah? Well am I gonna get to see any more of them?" Harry asked, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Smooth, Potter," he said, heavy with sarcasm, but he wriggled out of his shirt nonetheless.

" _I_ thought so," Harry murmured, kissing the Snitch as it whizzed over Draco's chest, distorting slightly for a moment as it passed through the jagged curse scars criss-crossing his skin. "And it worked, didn't it?"

"Shut up and get back up here."

Harry grinned and brought his mouth back up to Draco's, exploring the vibrant, shifting art with his wandering hands.

Whatever sensations Draco seemed to feel from some of them, Harry couldn't feel a thing through his skin, which he thought was a bit of a shame. Might be interesting to be able to feel if there was a tangible flutter from the dark flock of birds he'd seen swooping over his ribs.

Harry's fingers slipped over the slight bumps of the scar tissue across Draco's chest, and he abruptly recognised the erratic slashes. Had _h_ _e_ been the one to put them there back in sixth year? Guilt settled low in his stomach.

Draco seemed unfazed by all of this — arching up against Harry's hands, clenching his fist tightly in his hair again as he kissed him, apparently lost in the feel of his mouth, his hands.

"Do they hurt?" Harry murmured.

Draco's eyes blinked back open. "Hmm? Does what?"

Harry ran his hand back over the scars. "The curse scars."

Draco sighed exasperatedly. "Do yours?" He brought his hand up to trace the jagged, pale, branching lightning pattern on Harry's forhead and then dropped his hand to run his fingers over the similar one in the middle of his chest.

Harry pulled back again when Draco tried to kiss him, and shrugged, utterly serious. "The one on my forehead used to sometimes."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well mine are just plain old scars, they don't hurt. Can we go back to kissing now or do you want to be guilty and moody some more?"

"I—"

"Listen, it's in the past. What's done is done and we're different people now," Draco interrupted him. "I couldn't care less about them."

Harry frowned, but kissed him again. "Fine, but we're talking more about this later."

"Sure." Draco pulled him back down, and that was the end of talking for quite some time.

It wasn't until what felt like hours later, when they were rutting up against each other in earnest, that Draco suddenly remembered what exactly he was doing. 

Fuck, this was probably a horrible idea — what if it ruined everything afterwards? How could things _not_ be awkward between them after this?

"Ah, Harry, wait — stop."

Harry pulled back, stilling. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Draco panted, trying to catch his breath. "I just...are you sure you want to do this? We didn't talk about…" he trailed off.

"I...we don't have to. But I'm okay with it if you are, I mean, like I said it's not like we can see anybody else. It's fine if you don't want to though." Harry started to shift away, but Draco tightened his legs around him.

"No. I mean, I do, I just wanted to be sure...things are going to be fine between us, right? It's not going to be awkward tomorrow?"

Harry frowned. "Shouldn't be. I know what I'm doing, I trust you."

Draco sighed. "Okay."

He reached up to kiss him, and this time when their lips met, it was sweeter, more gentle.

They moved slowly against each other until Draco's hips stuttered and he let out a gasp as he came.

"Shi—ah," he shoved his hand between them, pushing Harry slightly away from him. "Sorry, sensitive."

"S'okay," Harry murmured, kissing down the side of his face and neck until he reached a small inked tide pool just under his collarbone, teeming with fishes and an eel and sea urchins, and even a miniature seahorse. 

Harry gave an experimental lick to the edge of the water, and Draco let out a muffled groan, tightening his hand in Harry's hair and baring his neck. Harry huffed out a small laugh, but obligingly lavished attention over his neck until Draco became coherent again.

As Draco's head slowly cleared, he became aware that he had his hand on Harry's cock.

"Oh, uhm, is this okay? Sorry, I—”

Harry rocked against his hand, cutting him off. "It's definitely okay."

Draco hesitantly gripped the outline of his cock through the thin material of his pyjamas and stroked. Harry eagerly pushed into his hand, kissing his neck and moaning lowly.

"Can I?" Draco hooked a thumb in Harry's waistband, and Harry nodded, bringing their mouths together again.

The angle was awkward, but it didn’t take too long before Harry was finishing with a shuddering groan.

“Fuck, sorry,” he said after a few seconds, rolling himself off of where he’d basically collapsed on top of Draco.

“You aren’t that heavy,” Draco said, sitting up and reaching toward the bedside table for his wand. “I can take it.”

“ _Can_ you now?” Harry snorted at the accidental innuendo.

Draco glared at him, and then paused when he turned back to grab his wand. He brought his hand closer to his face...huh. It was clean already, and he could feel his boxers were too.

“When did you do that?”

Harry opened his eyes slightly. “Do what?”

“Erm, you know, clean up?”

Harry let his eyes fall back shut. “Oh, I just...” He made a vague waving motion with his hand. “Don’t need to get a wand just for that,” he mumbled.

“Oh.” Draco said faintly. Fucking hell, just how powerful _was_ Harry? Nonverbal, no wand, and barely a movement? When he was nearly asleep?

“Gonna lay back down, or am I sleeping cold whilst you stare at the bed stand all night?”

“Right, sorry.” Draco settled back into the bed, and Harry curled into him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Mhm."

Harry picked his head up and squinted at Draco, studying his face. "Are you sure? You seem...off. Are _we_ okay?"

"Yeah." He smoothed a hand over Harry's hair. "Yeah, we're fine. I was just thinking."

"About?" Harry prodded.

"About how we should go to _sleep now_ , because it's late and I have work tomorrow," Draco huffed.

"Grumpy _and_ secretive, I see."

"Harry. Shut up and go to sleep."

"Mm fine, but see if I—"

Draco put a hand over Harry's mouth to stop him from talking. "We can stay up or we can go to sleep; either way you aren't going to annoy what I was thinking about out of me. Can we please go with the sleep option?"

Harry looked pointedly down at Draco's hand, when he still didn't remove it from his mouth.

"You can nod."

Harry rolled his eyes, and then, when that garnered no response, raised a judgemental eyebrow until Draco sighed and finally removed the hand.

"You're so bloody stubborn."

"Thank you, I try."

Draco groaned and banged his head back on the pillow. "Am I ever going to get to sleep? You were practically asleep yourself a few minutes ago — what happened?"

"Curiosity won out over the post-sex sleepiness."

"I'll bring you off again if it'll make you go the fuck to sleep."

Harry laughed. "Unconventional, yet tempting. But I'll go quietly, no bribery necessary." He slid himself up slightly to kiss Draco softly on the mouth. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Draco repeated back distantly, as Harry settled back in with his head on Draco's shoulder and arm securely around his waist.

Well fuck. That had been...unexpectedly tender. A genuine goodnight kiss. How was Draco supposed to sleep now?


	8. Chapter 8

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter, do you have any comments on your new, erm...roommate, Draco Malfoy? How can you live with someone who followed You Know Who?" a reporter asked, a Quick Quotes Quill hovering at the ready over a piece of parchment by their shoulder.

Harry could already feel a headache starting. He'd gone out 'shopping' without a glamour specifically so that reporters could ask questions about his 'relationship' with Draco, now that it had been confirmed for a couple of weeks, but it was still bloody exhausting.

" _Boyfriend_ ," he corrected (for probably the third time that week), rolling his eyes. "It's not a dirty word."

"No comments on how he's a Death Eater?" another reporter pressed.

" _Former_ Death Eater. Voldemort is dead, and Draco was acquitted. _And_ I testified in his trial on his behalf — that's all anyone needs to know."

"But—" 

"Listen, am I going to be able to go about my business or not?" Harry's patience was already running terribly thin, and honestly, fuck the questions from the press. Why did he ever think this was a good idea anyway?

He could practically hear Draco's 'I told you so' already. Ugh, he really hated when Draco turned out to be right.

Harry brushed past the reporters and ducked into the nearest shop.

"Hello, how can I— Oh! You're _Harry Potter!_ "

The older wizard behind the counter fluttered his hands about like he didn't know quite what to do with himself.

"What an honour to meet you! I must say, I never really expected _you_ to set foot in my shop. Well, how can I help you today? Are you looking for anything in particular?"

Harry grimaced at the fawning and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Erm, not really, sorry. I wasn't really heading any place in particular, I just stopped in."

"My my, this _is_ a treat then! For both of us! Don't be shy; _something_ must have led you in here! Cartwright's Chains and Charms has all the finest jewellery around. Craftsmanship you just can't find other places these days, you know!"

Harry thought he sounded like he was quoting straight from an advert, but he didn't want to be rude, so he hesitantly stepped forward to look at one of the cases.

"Oh, so you're interested in a _ring_ , hm? Well let's hear about the lucky lady! She must be something quite special for you to be buying a ring so quickly!"

Harry blushed, holding his hands out. "No, no, there's no lady, I'm not looking for any—" his eye caught a simple gold band with a smooth, round jade stone in the centre, and studded all around with tiny inset white pearls. He bit his lip and glanced back out the window at the reporters still gathered outside.

The man had obviously assumed he was shopping for an _engagement_ ring, and he could only assume the press would think so too if they saw him actually purchase one. 

He and Draco hadn't ever talked about it, but Harry could only assume that a fake _engagement_ would be taking things way too far. Hell, _he_ didn't think he could handle the stress of that. 

And then there was the fact that their relationship had already become so blurry since that first night they'd slept together. Harry didn't know what would be considered crossing a line at this point. Sure, they weren't _actually dating_ , but they spent most of their time together, and they'd still been hooking up occasionally, and they kissed sometimes, even when nobody was around to see. To be honest, it kind of hurt Harry's brain to try to think about _what_ exactly they were to each other, but surely a small gift was in those bounds?

It was just that the ring was so perfect. He just knew Draco would love it, and it would be subtle enough for him to wear with everyday clothes. The longer Harry stared at it, the more he knew he just _couldn't_ leave without it. 

It would be fine. He was allowed to buy things for his fake boyfriend/crush/close friend, right? It wasn't like it was _really_ an engagement ring.

"No lady," he repeated distantly, and pointed. "Could I see that one?"

"Ah! Alright then." The shopkeeper opened the case, and pulled out the thin gold ring. "This one has a protection charm! Nice and understated; perfect for you. Let's get your size and you can try it on."

"What? Oh— no, it isn't for me. Uhm," he looked down at his hands consideringly. "His fingers are a bit slimmer than mine. I don't know how much. I don't really know how ring sizes work, but can I just bring it by and get it resized if it doesn't fit?"

He looked back up to the shopkeeper, who just blinked at him, still holding the ring over the case.

"Erm…" Harry looked about, wondering why the man was suddenly unresponsive. "So...can you resize it? Is that an option?"

"Uh. Yes," the man replied slowly. "Sorry, _who_ did you say this ring is for?"

He _hadn't_ said, and he thought the shopkeeper very well knew that, but he answered anyway. 

"My...boyfriend?" It ended up coming out more like a question. Mostly he was just confused about how taken-aback this shopkeeper was. He can't have been _that_ surprised — it was all over the papers. 

Then again, he _had_ mentioned a 'special lady'. Perhaps he hadn't heard about it.

"Your _what?_ You can't mean that Malfoy child?"

Well, apparently the man _didn't_ live under a rock.

"Er. Yes?" It came out more like a question again. "He's not really a child. We're the same age." 

Harry knew that was probably _not_ the man's concern, but still. It bothered him to hear Draco just referred to as 'that Malfoy child' like he wasn't his own adult, like he was still just a spoilt brat tagging along in his father's footsteps.

The shopkeeper's face twisted, and he (seemingly unconsciously) pulled the ring back toward himself. "Surely you can't be _serious_ about _that_?"

Personally, Harry was getting quite sick of everybody's opinions on which relationships were allowed to be _'serious'_ or not.

"I really don't think that's any of your business. Can I buy the ring or not?"

"I… yes," the shopkeeper said uncertainly. "Are you _sure_ you don't want it sized for yourself? Or a bit...smaller for someone in the future?"

He was barely able to keep from rolling his eyes at the man, and refused to grant that with an answer; merely reaching into his pocket for his coin purse, and asking flatly, "How much?"

"...I'll just spell it so it will fit whomever wears it. Two hundred and fifty Galleons, and the charm is free."

Harry handed him the money without comment, and glanced warily out the window at the reporters again. "Any chance you have a Floo I could use?"

◇◇◇

Harry dropped his glamour and leant heavily against the wall in the lift as it took him up to the children's ward in St. Mungo's. 

He was properly exhausted after dealing with the reporters and that shopkeeper, but it was a Sunday, so he'd feel guilty not going to see the children like he always did. He would just have to try and make it a short visit.

The lift opened and he got out, wiping the exhaustion from his face. He could pretend for an hour. For the children.

"Mr. Potter, what a lovely surprise!" One of the healers greeted, as she did nearly every time Harry showed up.

"Please, Lavinia, it's Harry. And it's Sunday, so I always show up, don't I?"

"Yes, and you know we're so grateful to have you here! You're so great with the kids!"

Harry smiled and nodded, reaching for the door of the common room where the kids who weren't bedridden generally gathered, but she stopped him with a hand.

"Hold on a moment, I just...needed to talk to you about something first."

"Oh, er...sure. Is it about one of the kids?"

"Not exactly. Why don't we go sit down in one of the exam rooms?"

"O...kay?" He hesitantly followed her to the nearest exam room, and she knocked lightly on the door before entering.

He followed behind her and stopped short when he saw another of the healers (with the rather unfortunate name 'Milton') whom he often interacted with around the children's ward. 

"Oh good, you brought Mr. Potter," Milton said as they entered.

"Erm...is everything okay? What did you need to talk to me about?" This whole situation just felt very strange, and he couldn't for the life of him think what it could be about.

"Why don't you come in and have a seat?"

Yeah, Harry was definitely not liking this whole intervention-esque thing going on. He was just so very, _very_ tired, and today was _not_ the day for...whatever this was. 

Nevertheless, he entered the room and sat, staring at them expectantly.

"We just wanted to check in with you," Lavinia said gently. "How have you been feeling lately?"

"Okay, I guess? Why?"

Lavinia and Milton looked at each other briefly, before turning back to Harry.

"It's just that, as healers," Milton said, "we're obligated to pay attention to sudden changes in those around us that might indicate certain spells or potions that may be being used to influence— "

Harry held up his hand, stopping his speech as it all finally clicked. Of course it was once again about Draco and whatever shady thing he _must_ have done to get _Harry Potter_ in a relationship with him. It was honestly just so offensive — both to him _and_ Draco — and it was so _tiring_.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Not today. Just not— I'm too tired. I can't deal with you lot doing this too. Draco didn't drug me, as hard as that apparently is for some of you to believe, so can I please just go see the kids so I can _go home_?"

The healers exchanged another look and both of them shifted uncomfortably.

"It would be... _irresponsible_ for us to wait any longer and allow you to go about unchecked when something could be seriously wrong. We've already waited several weeks, and— "

Harry cut Lavinia off. "Whatever. You know what, do your stupid tests; I don't even care. I'm not under any sort of influence, and maybe if you see that with your own two eyes, everyone will stop pretending it's so _unbelievably wild_ that Draco might have grown as a person, and that I just fucking like him."

He really tried to keep a lid on his temper most of the time, but Merlin's tits everybody was really testing him today.

"Well?" He asked when they did nothing. "Do your healer thing. Make sure I'm not _'under influence.'_ "

Lavinia slowly stood and made a few complex motions with her wand, muttering an incantation under her breath, and a clear blue orb appeared in front of his chest.

Her eyes darted up to his, and back to the orb. She waved her wand, making it disappear, and quickly performed another spell, which made a green ring appear around his chest.

The healers looked at each other again, and Lavinia sighed.

"Well, you're clear of anything I can find." She waved her wand again, dissipating the green ring, and tucked it into her robe pocket.

"Thank you," Harry said stiffly, and strode out of the room before either of them could say anything else.

◇◇◇

When he finally got home, he made a beeline for the bedroom and flopped straight onto the bed, face first, which made Bartholomew screech in surprise.

His wings smacked loudly against the sides of his open cage as he resettled himself, and Harry waved his hand halfheartedly at the bird, hoping it would shut up already. He already _had_ a headache, thank you, he didn't need it worsened.

He'd managed to pretend for the kids for nearly an hour, but now that he wasn't in front of them, his anger and exhaustion was hitting him all at once, and he was just _seething_. Harry just didn't understand how everybody could be so utterly _ridiculous_ about this all.

"You okay?" He heard Draco ask.

He felt the bed dip as Draco sat beside him. Harry just gave a noncommittal grunt.

"I _did_ tell you talking to reporters would only end in misery."

"They're just all so stupid and _rude_." Harry complained, though it was muffled by the duvet.

"Mhm." Draco agreed. Although, with Draco he could definitely have been being patronising or not listening at all — it was very hard to tell when you couldn't see his face.

Harry turned his head to the side and cracked an eye open. "Don't be mean."

"I'm not being mean!" Draco protested, flicking him in the side. "I was about to make dinner, and _you_ came in all in a mood."

"Hm. I don't think you were listening though."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well I agreed with whatever you were saying! It's hard to hear when you're practically eating the duvet."

Harry snorted, and Draco flicked him again, this time in the neck.

"Ugh," he batted at Draco's hand, but quickly dropped it. His shoulder was extra achey today, and honestly he couldn't be bothered.

Draco dropped a hand to Harry's bad shoulder and gently massaged it. "Sorry. Is it bad today?"

Harry made a noncommittal sound, and he felt himself relax as Draco worked on his shoulder.

"You're too good at this." He mumbled. "Quit your job and become my full time masseuse."

It was Draco's turn to snort. "Who knew you were such a flatterer and a flirt? No fucking wonder you were practically friends with the whole of Gryffindor."

"I am _not_ — and I _wasn't_. Half the time most of them hated me for losing so many house points or because they thought I was the heir of Slytherin or because they thought I was lying about Voldemort being back, or, or _anything_."

" _Okay_ , Golden Boy," Draco said patronisingly.

"Oh, like _you're_ one to talk. The goddamn prince of Slytherin here."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever, I need to go make dinner if we're to eat anytime soon."

"No, stay. Let's just order pizza. We can eat it in bed."

"We're not eating in _my_ bed." Draco stood and dusted his jeans of invisible debris. "And besides, we should have some _actual_ food."

"Pizza _is_ actual food."

"Doesn't count," Draco insisted, as he left the room. "We're having goulash."

"Ugh." Harry groaned to himself. Goulash _did_ sound kind of good though. 

He didn't even notice that he'd already completely forgotten about his frustration from everything that had happened earlier in the day.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING Chapter Contains (in no particular order):** _Implied_ Sexual Content (not explicit), Mild Display of Triggered PTSD, Accidental Sexuality Outing (to Muggles)

Harry performed another discreet locator spell, and then slipped his wand back into the back pocket of his borrowed jeans, pulling the back of his windbreaker over to hide it.

He sighed, and stepped back out of the alleyway he'd ducked into. Really, he should have asked exactly _what_ record shop Draco worked at long ago in preparation for an instance just like this, but he stupidly hadn't thought of it. He tugged awkwardly at the hem of the t-shirt of Draco's that he'd borrowed (which was slightly too small), and hoped Draco wouldn't mind that he'd borrowed some of his clothes. It wasn't as if he could go into Muggle London in robes, and Draco had finally gotten him to leave Dudley's old hand-me-downs at a secondhand shop. He'd contemplated using a charm to make the shirt just a tad looser, but he thought Draco would probably kill him if it never fit quite right again.

He walked briskly down the street in the direction his wand had pointed, keeping his eyes peeled for a record shop. Just as he was about to find another alleyway to duck into to check again, he spotted a small shop, overshadowed by both of its neighbours, but displaying several dusty records in the tiny display window. 

The bell over the door chimed as he stepped into the dim shop, and the attendant behind the counter looked up from his mobile briefly, before going right back to texting.

Draco had a similar-looking phone — small and silver, with buttons that made tiny clicking noises when he pressed them. Harry hadn't the faintest idea how he'd spelled it to work around all the magic in their flat, as it seemed a _tad_ more complicated than a coffee machine. 

He had only rolled his eyes when Harry had asked and said, 'Well I really didn't have a choice — my coworkers have to have _some_ way to contact me, so I had to figure it out.'

Harry hesitantly approached the counter, though the man behind it still seemed absorbed with his phone and was paying him no mind. "Er, sorry, but is Draco working?"

The man looked up again and sized Harry up suspiciously. "Who's asking?"

Harry was taken-aback by the level of suspicion, but he supposed it might be a good thing that the man cared enough to be wary of anyone asking for Draco, considering he probably knew Draco was undocumented. "Oh, erm, my name's Harry. I just—"

"Harry?" Draco walked out of the back room and stopped short. "What are you doing here?"

"Zylphia closed up the shop early. Bad day," he tapped his leg, and Draco grimaced in sympathy. "Thought we might be able to eat lunch together."

Draco shook his head, but walked toward him. "Well your timing is impeccable — I was just about to leave for my break." He tsked. "I'll have to brew—" he cut himself off, and his eyes darted over to his Muggle coworker behind the counter. "Uh... _bring_ her some more...pain medicine."

Draco shifted himself closer to the door, hoping Harry would get the hint that it probably wasn't a good idea to continue talking in front of Muggles.

"She said she's got plenty, otherwise I'd have...gotten some for her."

"Still." He turned toward the door, hoping Harry would follow his lead.

"Oh, you're _Harry_ Harry," a voice behind him said. Oh great, now there was going to be more conversation. 

He reluctantly turned back to see Harry looking with surprise at Missy, who had been reorganising the records on one of the shelves. 

"Should've realised; Draco's talked about you. You're his roommate, right?" she continued, brightly.

"Boyfriend," Harry automatically corrected, and Draco tensed and closed his eyes for a moment. 

Fucking hell, this day was _not_ going as planned.

He saw the second Harry realised he'd fucked up in his eyes. _Good_. A small, bitter part of Draco hoped he felt bad. Why did Harry have to come in and upend _every single corner_ of his life? Could _nothing_ be left unscathed?

"Actually, I think I forgot something in the back room," Draco's voice came out noticeably strained and higher than usual. "Harry?"

He practically dragged him into the back room by the wrist. The door had barely swung shut before he was whirling back on Harry.

"What the fuck was that?"

"It was automatic, it just came out— I wasn't thinking! I'm _sorry_."

"No, you clearly _weren't_ thinking!" he agreed, tugging an anxious hand through his hair. "This isn't like in the regular world, they're—" his voice dropped to a whisper to hiss out, " _Muggles_ ," before returning to normal volume. "I've no idea what they think about these things! Do you know some of the things they say about people like me? Some of the things they _do_? _You_ grew up with them, how could you not know?"

"I mean, I remember, but I— I'm _sorry_." 

"I just—" Draco's hand tightened in his hair to the point of yanking, and he looked as if he was biting his tongue. "I'm still not accepted back in regular society. I have _no_ fucking friends, _no_ connections. The people I work with here are literally the _only_ other people besides you and Zylphia that I can ever even talk to. These are the _closest_ thing I have to friends, and I've _no bloody clue_ how they feel about this — and I _didn't_ want to find out! I can't be ostracised again, Harry! 

"What am I supposed to do if they stop talking to me? What if I get fired? I'm already sketchy as fuck; they weren't exactly gagging to hire me in the first place!"

"I'm sorry. Wi— _our_ society is coming around to you, though. You won't be—"

"Are you kidding me?" Draco cut him off furiously. "Pull your head out of your arse, Harry! I'm trying, that's the point of all this," he gestured between them, "but it's still a fucking pipe dream! I'm fully aware it might never happen, you're just my _best chance_. Not a bloody guarantee. They aren't any closer to accepting me, don't even try to pull that — not when I still can't go to any of the main shops without having my life threatened if I'm not with _you_."

"They're actually _threatening_ you?" Harry sounded affronted, and Draco wondered just how someone could be so _goddamn unaware_.

"Of _course_ they are! _You're_ the only person who could _possibly_ be surprised by that. Hell, even _you_ shouldn't be surprised. What the hell else were you so upset about yesterday after dealing with the reporters? You ask _anybody_ , even Weasley and Granger, I'm sure _they're_ plenty aware. 

"Nobody _isn't_ _!_ I'm practically the universal symbol for everything everyone wants to forget, and being with you has just put a bigger target on my back. I expected that, and I'm willing to do that for the chance that it might eventually pay off, but don't pretend it isn't _there_."

"I...I didn't realise it was so bad." Harry still looked shocked.

"What, you read the utter crap they put in the papers and expect nobody to actually be upset and act on it in person? The only reason they don't do more than glare and say nasty things in front of _you_ is they're _afraid_ , oh _holy saviour_ ," he sneered. 

He knew Harry could be oblivious about some things, but Draco just didn't understand how the situation didn't seem to be getting _through_ to him.

"Hey, okay there's no need for that. I'm sorry I didn't realise, but you don't have to be _mean_."

" _I'm the one whose life is once again entirely up in the air_ ," Draco growled. " _I'm_ the one who can't go shopping alone without getting five," his voice dropped briefly to a whisper again, " _wands_ pointed at my goddamned head. Why do you think I go through so many potio— _remedies?_

"I can't go out alone without people steering their children away, and hissing that they wish I was in Azk— _prison_ , rotting away there 'til I die like my fucking father, that it would be a public service if somebody went ahead and took me out for _daring_ to show my face— Oh for _fuck's sake_ Harry, control yourself!" he interrupted himself, as he realised the stacks of boxes had begun to shake on their own, knowing full-well it wasn't _his_ magic that was doing it.

Draco knew he was being sharper than usual with Harry, but uncontrolled magic was really the last thing he needed right now. He did _not_ want to have to obliviate his coworkers. Or at least, that was the concern he was trying to keep his brain focused on. He tried to ignore his heart hammering in his chest.

"You're an _adult_ , learn some bloody control! This is why I don't tell you things." The boxes continued to shake. "If so much as _one_ box tips over or _one_ record breaks, I'm leaving. I'm not fixing a goddamn thing, and _you're_ going to fix it and figure out how to explain this somehow."

"Shut up, just— just _give me a minute_ ," Harry gritted out. His eyes were clenched shut, and he was taking deep breaths.

Draco rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. His poker face had always kept him safe before, and the projected cool exterior had snapped into place as if the years he'd spent trying to rid himself of it had never happened.

After two tense minutes the shaking stopped, and Harry opened his eyes, glaring at him. "You know, you're complete shite in crisis."

"Oh well excuse _me_ ," he drawled sarcastically. And then, " _Crisis_ ," he scoffed to himself. 

"Don't mock me, I could _very easily_ end up bringing this whole street down."

"Oh, is that a _threat?_ " Draco asked, still looking markedly unimpressed.

He could feel his Snitch tattoo beating, telltale, over the pulse point in his throat though, and on the inside, he was shaking just as the boxes had been only moments before. Rationally, he knew — or at least he _thought_ — that Harry would never hurt anyone, even through a lapse of control; but the raw power coming off of him was _terrifying_.

Even as Draco consciously squashed the comparison to being in the Dark Lord's presence when he was angry, he couldn't deny Harry's uncontrolled magic had set him further on edge, and his hackles were up.

"Jesus Chr— of course it's not a _threat_ , Draco! What kind of person do you think I _am?_ It's a very real concern, and something I'd like to _avoid_ doing, so you poking me when I'm already getting out of control is _not really appreciated_."

"Like I said, you're a big boy, learn some control," he bit out, trying to focus on slowing his heart and calming the adrenalin flooding his system.

The Dark Lord was not here. The war was over. He was safe. Breathe.

"I'm _trying_. Fuck, you're an arsehole."

" _And?_ " Draco challenged sharply. _Hurt me_ , his tone said, _I dare you to_. 

He bit his tongue. 

Breathe. He didn't need to do this. Breathe. He was safe. Breathe. Harry wouldn't hurt him. Breathe.

Harry let out a slow breath, and ran a hand over his face. "That really happens? When you go out without me?"

"What, do you think I just enjoy making this shite up?" It was still a bit snappish, but he was beginning to feel more level-headed as Harry calmed and as he focused on his breathing. 

Harry wasn't rising to his bait. Harry was preoccupied with concern for _his_ well being. Harry. _Wasn't_. Going. To. Hurt. Him.

Breathe.

"You—" Harry cut himself off again and took another deep breath. "Don't go out alone anymore. Unless it's here."

"Do I look like a bloody princess? I'm not going to be locked up in some tower, thanks. I don't enjoy it, but it's not going to stop me if I want to go somewhere."

"Please, Draco. What if something happens? I can't have you die, please, everyone dies. I can't—"

Harry's distress was palpable, and all at once Draco felt the guarded, biting snark drain from him, and he was left feeling wrung out and exhausted.

Silence fell for several long moments.

"Yeah, I don't plan on dying," he finally said softly, "but I'm still not staying locked in the fucking flat if I don't have an _escort_. I..." He trailed off, closing his eyes and sighing. "It's not that I don't have sympathy for you, but you don't have a monopoly on tragedy, Harry. _My_ parents are dead too, _and_ my godfather. I watched one of my best friends burn to death in front of me, knowing that if you'd not been such a ridiculously _decent_ person, or if you'd been a second slower, that _I_ would've died that horrid, painful death right there with him. 

"The _only_ family I have is aunt Andromeda and the wer— the sprog, and they certainly want nothing to do with me. We all went through the war, Harry. _Everyone_ lost people. _You_ at least have the Weasleys and Granger, and some of your little Gryf— _friends_. And I know, I _know_ I did some horrible things, but I lost _everything_. Everything. So you aren't going to win the misery Olympics with me." It came out in a flat, tired monotone, but it was clear Harry still felt the emotional impact of his words.

"I just..." Harry trailed off.

"Yeah." 

They fell to silence once again. 

Draco looked up at the clock on the wall and sighed. "Got fourteen minutes left on my break. Think we've got enough time for a chip shop run?"

"I— what? Aren't you pissed at me?"

"Yeah... Well...no. I don't know." Draco pushed himself forward off the wall. "Can't exactly _un_ -out me though, and we still need lunch, so..."

"Uh, okay. Yeah, I think we have time."

"Good." Draco pushed out the back door, without checking that Harry was behind him, and Harry followed behind feeling slightly lost.

◇◇◇

Harry hadn't even had time to stand up from the sofa when Draco had come in the front door after work, before he was right in front of Harry, demanding, "Thoughts on angry sex?"

"Erm...yeah?" Harry stuttered out.

"Excellent."

Afterward, when Harry's brain was finally catching back up on how to _think_ , he remembered what he'd meant to ask when Draco came home. 

"How did things go with your coworkers?" he asked, stroking his thumb soothingly over Herbert the dragon tattoo, who was waving his tail lazily over Draco's thigh, basking in the attention.

"Don't know." Draco rolled away, and Harry frowned at the loss of contact as he got to his feet. "They didn't mention it."

"That's...good?" Harry said cautiously, looking up at Draco from where he still lay sprawled on the floor.

"Could be. It's nerve-wracking is what it is. I've no idea what they're thinking or planning," he grumbled as he went into the kitchen. He stared into the fridge for a minute, and then pushed it shut. The ink dragon flapped its wings insistently, thrashing its tail and snorting smoke, and Draco poked at it. "Stop that, you." 

He hated how much it tickled when it snorted smoke out like that — oh, and _now_ the bloody smoke had drifted its way over to the flock of starlings, spooking them and making the murmuration move up over his chest, which blotted out the ornate pocket watch there. "Messing up the order of things," he murmured. "Now how am I meant to tell the time?" 

And then louder, to Harry, "Takeaway for dinner?"

"Yeah. Herbert being fussy?" Perhaps he was just a _bit_ smug that the dragon was fond enough of his attentions now to pitch a fit when it stopped.

"I still didn't say you could name my dragon."

"So that'll be a yes, then."

Draco sighed, and patted lightly at the scales over the side of his belly. Herbert — no, _the dragon_ — settled down with a little squiggle and folded its wings back, making Draco's leg twitch as its tail slid neatly back into its standard coil around his thigh. What a moody little attention-seeker. And now Harry had him calling the thing _Herbert_ in his head. Utterly ridiculous.

Draco wandered back into the living room and stared at Harry, who was still on the floor with his eyes shut. "You gonna get back up ever?"

"You could come back down and join me."

"On the floor?" Draco asked, his distaste obvious.

"You weren't complaining about the floor ten minutes ago."

"Yeah, interesting thing, distraction." 

Harry forced his eyes open again, narrowing them calculatingly at Draco. "I'm more than willing to distract you again."

"Dinner."

Harry groaned, but got to his feet. "Fine, yeah. What should we get?"

Draco shrugged, and pulled him closer, kissing him softly and slowly. 

"This is not conducive to dinner activities," Harry finally said after a few minutes.

"No," Draco kissed him again, letting a hand trail over the outside of his hip. "Dinner can wait; I just didn't want to get back on the floor. Come distract me again in the bed."

"Conniving," Harry mumbled, kissing him again and starting to move back toward the bedroom. "I like that in a man."

Draco laughed against his mouth. "You're in luck." 

But he quickly pulled back again, abruptly serious. "Wait; I'm sorry."

Harry gave him a questioning look.

"I shouldn't have shouted earlier. I'm...still kind of upset, and I do wish you'd thought it through before saying anything, but I know it was an accident, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Harry kissed him. "No, I really should have thought before I spoke. But thank you." He kissed him again. "I'll mind my words in front of Muggles, promise."

It was such a silly, simple thing. Just a normal response; certainly not even the nicest thing Harry had said to him. There was really nothing that should have done it, but right in that moment Draco felt himself fall, just ever so slightly, in love with him.

◇◇◇

"Mmn." Harry groaned, and rolled over, patting around behind himself until he found Draco's arm, and pulling it over his waist. "Can we have dinner in bed this time? I'm too tired to be bothered."

Draco sighed against the back of his neck, absentmindedly stroking his thumb over the warm skin of Harry's stomach. "Yeah, okay. You have to order and get the door though."

"Ugh. Fine. In a few."

They laid there in content silence for several minutes, before Harry forced himself up to sitting and groaned.

"Next time we have sex, we should definitely do it _after_ everything else that needs to be done. I'm knackered."

"Noted." Draco mumbled, turning his face further into the pillow. "Get a move on though, I'm hungry."

"Alright, I'm working on it." He looked about the room for some clothes, and jumped when he saw two shining eyes staring at him.

"Fucking hell." He put a hand over his racing heart.

"What?" 

"Bartholomew flew back in at some point, and he's just sitting there staring at me. Gonna give me a heart attack someday." He felt an odd need to cover up under the owl's intense stare.

"Well, if he's been in here for long, at least I won't have to give him the talk. They grow up so fast."

Harry let out a laugh before he could stop himself, and pushed Draco's shoulder. "Merlin's pants, you're fucked in the head." He spied his robes from yesterday in a heap on the floor, and he remembered— 

"Oh yeah, I got you something yesterday. I forgot about it."

"That speaks volumes." Draco mumbled into the pillow.

"Shush. You'll like it." He summoned it wordlessly, and the ring zipped into his hand.

Draco reluctantly sat up, and looked to what Harry was holding out in his palm. His eyes widened comically for a moment, and he dropped his face into his hands.

"Great Hecate, Harry, what did you _do?_ "

"What?"

" _Please_ tell me you didn't get that whilst you were talking to _reporters_ without your glamour."

Harry paused. Oh. Right. "Well, it was _after_ I talked to them."

Draco shook his head, and grabbed his wand off the bedside table. "I knew I should always make time for the paper, no matter _how_ late I am, because there's always got to be _something_..." he muttered, as he summoned the morning's Prophet from where he'd tossed it on his desk before running out the door for work.

He yanked the covers up over his lap, and snatched the paper out of the air, staring down at the front page for a few moments. Harry idly noticed Herbert snapping playfully at the starlings swooping over Draco's stomach, but looked up quickly when Draco turned the paper around to him with a snap.

"Exactly as I thought. You can't just go out and buy a fancy ring in the public eye, Harry! 

"You've backed us into a corner, where if I _don't_ wear it, they're going to assume it was for someone _else_ ," he stabbed a finger at a sentence speculating as to whether Harry had finally found a nice witch and stopped 'dallying around with Draco Malfoy'. "And if I _do_ wear it, they'll assume our stupid fake relationship is now an _engagement_ , which, I'm going to be honest, I can _not_ really handle!"

"I...well you don't have to wear it on your ring finger."

Draco dropped the paper and sighed, closing his eyes tightly. "That isn't going to stop the assumptions."

"Well we can clarify! It was just a gift! I just thought you'd like it."

Draco picked up the paper again, and quickly scanned over it. "Yeah, Cartwright's is _not_ really a place to get casual gifts. It's _fine jewellery_." He glanced back at the ring. "Are those _pearls?_ No, nope, please don't tell me. And never tell me how much that cost; I'll probably hyperventilate." 

He closed his eyes again, and took several deep, slow breaths, which made the murmuration of starlings undulate in a truly fascinating way — not that that was where Harry's attention was focused, of course. "Okay. Okay. Uhm...okay." He opened his eyes again and stared at the ring. "Right. Okay. So, I'll wear it. You're right: _not_ on my ring finger, and we'll deny any questions about engagement. And then we will hope for the best, because I think that's all we can do."

"Er...alright." Harry said. Draco seemed to have gone through many different stages of...emotion or whatever _very_ quickly. But at least he didn't seem to be ending everything? 

Harry felt like he was fucking up quite a lot lately.

Draco hesitantly picked up the ring from Harry's hand and stared at it closely. "It's very...pretty," he forced out, like the sentence pained him, before taking a deep breath and slipping it quickly onto his right index finger and shoving his hand under the covers so he couldn't see it. He felt the damned Snitch tattoo flutter down to the ring, and he clenched his fist. _Great_ _,_ now even his own skin was betraying him.

Harry didn't know whether he should be offended that Draco was treating the ring like a particularly nasty potion you'd plug your nose for and down all in one go. He thought it best not to press the issue though.

"Please go order some food before I pass out," Draco said, eyes squeezed shut once again, and Harry complied.

Over the course of the evening, though, as they ate and got ready for bed, Draco found himself staring at the ring and the little inked Snitch still fluttering around it. Every few seconds, his eyes caught the shine of the gold, again and again, and he was stuck wondering just what he'd gotten himself into.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Russian, if anyone wants to know:
> 
> _' **Solnyshko** ' and **'milaya'** are pet names, sort of like 'darling'. The first is for anyone, the second is for romantic partners._
> 
> _' **Da** ' just means 'yes'._
> 
> _' **Blin** ' is an interjection/exclamation, usually used as a swear. In this case they mean it kind of like a 'Wow, shit. Yikes.'_
> 
> They can all pretty much be figured out in context, so don't worry too much about remembering.
> 
> * * *
> 
> If there are any Russians out there reading this and you noticed I got anything wrong/if I misinterpreted what I read, feel free to correct!

Work the next day was anxiety-inducing for a different reason than Draco had expected. His coworkers were indeed having hushed conversations about him, but less about the boyfriend/queer thing, and more about the fact that Missy and Rob had apparently overheard much of his and Harry's argument.

The consensus seemed to be that they were in some sort of cult. But, whilst Derek hadn't completely disagreed, he seemed to think that there was some serious weight behind his alien theory, now that Missy and Rob had filled him in on what had happened the day before. Matt hadn't contributed much more than a grunt and a shrug, as usual.

Draco kept quiet and tried to avoid them. Wouldn't it be just _brilliant_ if Harry's big mouth ended up breaking the bloody Statute of Secrecy. At least none of them seemed to have brought up magic — although Derek was adamant that the 'freaky shaking thing' (as Missy had so eloquently described it) was serious proof toward his alien theory. Rob seemed to actually be buying it.

"Makes sense," Matt finally muttered. He wasn't even on the clock, Missy had just called him in to come gossip, and he was definitely high.

"Which thing? The alien thing or the cult thing?" Derek asked.

"Both. Think about it. You said he said that Harry had 'grown up 'round them,' so that's us, humans. What if there were like...testers. Ones sent to see if it was safe? And then he was talking about the 'war' or whatever, what if that's why they had to leave their home world and the survivors came here because they knew it was safe from the testers like Harry? And then they've created their own little cult society here now."

"Fucking hell, mate. You might actually be onto something! Oh, and what if that's why Harry can't control his powers? Because he was raised amongst us humans?" Derek asked excitedly.

"Wait, that actually makes sense. Why does that make so much sense?" Rob asked.

Draco sighed. "Ridiculous," he muttered, and then raised his voice to normal volume, turning away from the records he'd been aimlessly stacking and restacking. "You know I can hear you, right?"

They all jumped.

"Oh fuck, I didn't even know you were here today," Matt said, turning his head to blink at him.

"So I've gathered."

" _Alien super hearing?!_ " Derek whispered alarmedly to the others, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm like 3 metres away from you, _Derek_ , I don't need bloody _super hearing_ to overhear this thrilling conversation. I don't even know what an alien _is_."

"That does _not_ convince me that you're human. Everyone knows what a fucking _alien_ is." At Draco's continued confused and annoyed expression, he elaborated. "Like from space? Creatures from other planets?"

"That's ridiculous; why would they come here instead of staying at home? _I've_ never seen one."

"Mate...was that supposed to be _convincing?_ "

Draco crossed his arms defensively. "I took astronomy in school and I never heard a thing about _aliens_ , or saw anything to suggest them, so pardon me if I don't believe you."

There was a wide-eyed silence, and then, "Cult?" "Oh yeah, definitely cult."

"Oh would you leave off? I wasn't raised in a bloody _cult_."

None of them looked like they believed him. 

"So, if everyone except Harry, like, actually wants you dead...why do you want to go back?" Missy finally asked. "What did you even do?"

"You weren't supposed to hear that, and it's none of your business," Draco replied tersely. 

"But we _did_ hear it, and I'm curious."

Draco sighed deeply. It was going to be a _very_ long day at work.

◇◇◇

Draco pressed cork stoppers into the twelve tiny glass jars, and sighed, checking the time. Harry was awfully late coming home from St. Mungo's today, but he supposed that might be a good thing. He really needed to drop these potions off for Zylphia, and Harry had a way of...distracting him.

After working all morning, and then brewing for nearly two hours, plus the overall stress of the past two days, Draco was honestly beat, but hopefully a little chat at Zylphia's would boost his spirits enough to come back and make dinner. Ugh.

He carefully packed the jars in a box, surrounding them with paper, and cast a permanent cushioning charm on the whole thing just in case it got dropped. On the way toward the fireplace, he paused. Ah crap, he probably _should_ write Harry a note just in case he came home whilst he was gone.

He scribbled out a quick _'Bringing potion to Zylphia's. Should be back by 7. xx'_ , stuck it to the bedroom door with a light sticking charm, and headed toward the fireplace before he could remember anything _else_ inconvenient.

"Hello?" he called, as he stepped out of the swirling green flames. He had to stoop a bit for their fireplace, but at least he'd learnt to avoid knocking his head after the first time.

"Draco, is that you? We got your owl earlier."

He followed the voice into the kitchen and nearly collided with someone heading toward him. They steadied him by the shoulders and then pulled him into a hug, which he returned one-handed, awkwardly holding the box out to the side.

"Draco, solnyshko, it's been so long! Zylphie keeps telling me you stop by her shop, but I haven't seen your face in almost six months — what's that about, hm? Come, sit down."

"Sorry Rodya," Draco was blushing as he sat down at the table next to Zylphia and gave her a small wave hello. He hadn't come over too many times in the few years since he'd become friendly with Zylphia, but Rodya had been unfailingly warm since their first meeting, and it was very sweet the way they tended to fuss over him. "I've been very busy, work and...stuff you know."

"Hmm," they gave him a stern look. "And you think I have not? You break my heart. It would only take ten minutes to respond to my owls. I don't understand why you don't use that sweet little bird more often, he is so charming."

Rodya could be rather imposing when they had a mind to be — they were very tall and had a strong nose and solemn face that easily lent itself to scowling. Not that they actually _did_ scowl often at all. Rodya was one of the most vibrantly cheerful people Draco had ever met, but they _did_ know how to make a scolding effective. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I forget and end up letting them pile up."

"Well, don't forget you have invaluable sneak peeks into the next Sytnikov crime thriller in those letters. Can't just let anybody see these things, you know." They paused. "Although, my editor was not very fond of either of the scenes, so they may not make it in after all, but still precious!" They tapped the side of their head and winked.

Draco snorted, "I'll keep that in mind, and you know I'll be the first to buy a copy when it hits the shelves." He pushed the box over the table to Zylphia. "Harry told me you were having a rough pain day yesterday — any better today?"

"Eh, a little, but my leg hasn't been cooperating either — I swear, I've taken at least 5 muscle relaxant potions today, it's ridiculous." Draco grimaced in sympathy. "I was _going_ to go back in to the shop today anyway, but _someone_ took it upon themself to convince me otherwise," she looked up at Rodya with a mock glare.

"You know I cannot bear to be parted from you, milaya — and even less so when I know you are in pain," they said, bending down to drop a kiss on her lips. 

"Oh that is very lovely ring! Where did you get that?" Draco unconsciously tensed when he realised Rodya was talking to him and staring at the jade ring on his index finger.

Zylphia rolled her eyes at him. "They didn't mean anything by it, you know they're too busy with their writing to bother with the papers."

"Draco!" Rodya sounded scandalised. "What have you been doing to get in the papers? You never told me about this, Zylphia!"

She shrugged. "I figured it wasn't really mine to tell."

Rodya pursed their lips. "Hm. Well tell me, what have we gotten into now? Not war things being brought up again, I hope?"

"No, no. Well, not really. Kind of," Draco stumbled over his words, thinking how best to explain. "I'm, er, publicly dating Harry. Harry Potter."

Rodya's brow creased for a moment. "Zylphia's potions assistant?"

"Yes. But, he's also the whole...hero of the war, one who defeated the Dark Lord...that guy."

"Oh. I only met him once in passing at the shop. He seemed nice, but I _thought_ he was acting strange — perhaps expecting to be recognised? Very pretty eyes!"

Draco facepalmed. "Oh don't tell me he forgot to put on his glamour _again_. That idiot is lucky it hasn't been anyone with a mind to blab to the press yet."

"I keep telling him so," Zylphia agreed. "Thought he was supposed to have been an Auror. You'd think he'd be better at the whole keeping-up-appearances thing."

"You'd really think," Draco agreed.

"So he is nice, yes? He treats you well?" Rodya asked.

"Oh. Uh. I mean yeah, well...we aren't actually dating. It's um. Just for the public."

Rodya looked more lost than ever, and looked to Zylphia for explanation, but she only rolled her eyes. "Oh, this again."

" _What?_ " Draco protested. "It works, we're friends, and it's hopefully going to get us each what we want."

"You know, I was really hoping you two would have just _talked_ by now. But I suppose that's too much to expect, hm? I'm not doing it _for_ you."

"We talk plenty! There's— it isn't like that. He doesn't see it that way."

"Sorry, but what am I missing? What is the goal here?" Rodya asked.

"Well, for Harry he wants to get rid of the weird hero-worship thing around him where people don't just see him as an actual person. And I just want to be able to comfortably exist in wizarding society again. I mean, if anyone can fix a reputation, it's The Saviour, right?" Rodya and Zylphia looked at each other. "It was Harry's idea," he added quickly. The two of them were making it all sound a bit...stupider than he'd thought it was.

Zylphia raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm... okay." Rodya said, in a valiant attempt at support. "Is it working?"

Draco paused. It was a simple question, and yet it was not one he was prepared for in the slightest. 

Actually, now that he really thought about it, it seemed like the most obvious question he _should_ have been asking himself all along, and yet he'd never thought of it in so many words. He thought over how long it had been, and everything they had done in the name of it, and... No, it _wasn't_ working. Fuck. The plan was not working _at all_.

"Uhmmm...it's taking a little bit longer than expected," he hedged. Rodya and Zylphia looked at each other again.

"Hm. Okay," Rodya said again, and reached over to pat his hand. "Bring him over for dinner some time, yes? I would like to meet him properly."

"I—" Draco wanted to protest how ridiculous the two of them were acting like the whole thing was, but he realised he really didn't have a leg to stand on. "Okay," he relented. "And speaking of dinner," he realised, "I should be leaving so I can go make that."

"You're more than welcome to stay! We have plenty of food to go around."

Draco shook his head. "I can't leave Harry to fend for himself; I still haven't gotten the crumbs out of my bed from last time. Also I left a note saying I'd be home around seven, and don't want to have him worry."

Rodya's brow creased again, and they quietly asked Zylphia a question in rapid-fire Russian. 

She replied with a simple, droll, "Da."

"Blin. Complicated."

Draco stood, and Rodya hugged him again. "I will see you _soon_ , right?" they emphasised. 

"Yes. Soon, I promise."

He leaned down to hug Zylphia, and then took his leave.

When he stepped back through the Floo, he was already thinking about how he'd like to just collapse into bed rather than clean up all his potions mess from earlier _and then_ make dinner. He was surprised to find the kitchen...noisy.

He walked toward the kitchen and peered in.

Harry looked up and smiled. "Hi!"

Draco waved. "Erm..." he settled for a questioning look around the room. Everything seemed in control — not that he didn't trust Harry in the kitchen, just that he didn't often...cook. It looked like he was making a stir-fry though, and it smelled good. "Was there some sort of special occasion?" he half-shouted to be heard over the abominably loud fan in the extractor hood above the stove.

"I bought a cookbook!" Harry grabbed a book from the counter and held it up for a moment so Draco could see. _Quick and Easy Vegetarian Cookery_ , the title proclaimed.

Draco couldn't hide his fond smile as he leaned against the doorframe, watching Harry finish up the food and get plates out of the cupboard. Harry was just so... _Harry_. 

Of course buying a cookbook was deemed a special occasion, and of course he decided to cook after Draco had had a long couple of days, and _of course_ he went out of his way to find recipes that Draco could enjoy too. He was unbearably sweet sometimes.

"So," Harry asked, after he turned off the fan. He handed Draco his plate with a quick kiss, and Draco nearly dropped it. Harry didn't appear to notice, sitting down at the table, and continuing to make conversation. "How's Zylphia?" 

Draco sat. "Um... Alright, I guess. She ended up staying home today, but she seemed her usual self, so hopefully it's not too bad. She and Rodya want us to come over for dinner some time; Rodya said they've only met you in passing."

"Oh yeah, like a month ago. I uh...didn't put my glamour up in time, and I kept expecting them to say something about it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "So I heard. And don't worry, they really only know the basics about the war — it wasn't the biggest of news all the way over in Russia. Really, they're like the last person who would fawn over you."

"Hm," Harry agreed. "So I talked to Molly today."

"Molly...?"

"Weasley."

"Right."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, looking like he didn't quite know how to say what he wanted to. "So..." he paused again. "Just hear me out first, before you decide anything, okay?"

Well that didn't bode well at all. Draco raised an eyebrow, and waited for Harry to go on — although, he suspected he was not going to be a fan of the direction this conversation was heading. 

"So I was out Christmas shopping earlier after St. Mungo's, and it got me thinking about what you had said a few days ago about not really having anybody. And I just thought...maybe you'd like to come with me to the Weasley's for Christmas on Wednesday?"

Draco's face must have betrayed his hesitance, because Harry rushed to continue.

"I mean, you don't have to. We can stay here if you really want, I'm not going to leave you alone on Christmas. I just don't want you to say no just because you're afraid they won't like you. That's why I talked to Molly first, and nobody's going to give you a hard time, I promise. Teddy and Andromeda were already planning to go away on holiday for Christmas this year, so you won't even have to worry about them. I really think if you give them a chance they'll love you, and...I just want you to be able to be with family on Christmas." Harry shyly looked up from staring at the fork he had aimlessly been twirling during his speech. "So? Will you consider it?"

Draco but his lip. "I... I don't know Harry. It isn't just about them not liking me," which was a bit of an understatement as far as Draco was concerned. He was pretty sure most of them _loathed_ him, and he was positive they still blamed him (and rightly so) for a lot of the stuff he'd done. But, more importantly, "I met with Ron and Hermione, but meeting your _whole family?_ That's a bit different, isn't it? Like what if they can tell it's not real, or what are we supposed to do when this is all over? What if it gets out that this is all fake?"

"If Ron and Hermione didn't notice, then I sincerely doubt _anyone_ is going to. And if it _does_ get out, it's not like I'm just going to let you take all the blame. I'd really like them to be able to actually meet you, and I think you'd have a good time."

Draco unconsciously worried the side of the ring with his thumb as he thought, and he felt his goddamned snitch of a...well, _Snitch_ flutter over his throat, betraying his anxiety.

He thought about how close the Weasleys all seemed, and how readily and happily they had accepted Harry as one of their own, and...well he _did_ really miss family Christmases. It had always been an extravagant affair at the manor, and the past few years of celebrating in his flat alone, or going in to work paled in comparison, entirely lacking in the warmth the holiday was supposed to bring. 

He sighed. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad — there was even the possibility it could end up being a little bit nice. "Okay. Yeah, we can go," he finally agreed, but he still felt a little uncertain.

◇◇◇

Now that it was the day of, Draco was more than just _a little_ uncertain.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? We can say I got sick, or I got called into work, or—"

"Shh, Draco, it's gonna be _fine_ , okay? Relax."

Draco ran an agitated hand through his hair, before hurriedly trying to fix it back into place in the mirror over the bureau. "This is— this is _big_ , Harry. Are you sure you really want to do this? Introduce me to the family? When it's not even real? They all hate me anyway — they _should_ hate me. I shouldn't go, it's going to make everything horribly awkward and ruin everyone's holiday—"

"Draco." Harry came up behind him and covered his mouth with a hand, resting his chin on his shoulder. "It's going to be fine. I promise. It'll be good to introduce you and all that, even if we're not _really_ in a relationship," he swallowed hard. It was so difficult to remember that — but he _had_ to, it was _important_. 

"You're one of my best friends, and they'd have to meet you at some point, because I really like you and I don't plan on going anywhere. And anyway, they don't _all_ hate you. Ron likes you okay, and Hermione will be there too, and she's alright with you—"

"Oh yes, real assuring, Harry," Draco butted in, muffled by Harry's hand. But it was quiet and resigned, and he'd closed his eyes, leaning back against Harry's chest.

Harry dropped the hand from Draco's mouth, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "It won't take them long to warm up to you, I know it. They're all very nice, and they love me, so I'm sure they will be very willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Our families have a longstanding blood feud, I was horrible to them at literally any chance for years, said all sorts of insulting things, I'm the reason Bill got mauled by Greyback, Ginevra...she hates me. Seventh Year, Harry...you weren't there, you don't know what it was like, and I—"

"Draco. Stop. You're just psyching yourself out more. I'm not saying they're going to forgive and forget everything, but we all have a capacity to move forward. I'm not saying it's all the same, but a lot of us did some awful things, and we've all been through a lot, and we all know that sometimes you just have to let the past be the past. I think you'd be surprised at how much they're willing to forgive or overlook for the sake of peace. 

"And anyway," he continued, "Ginny's one of my best friends too. She may not have the greatest opinion of you at the moment, but she'll try, and once you warm up to each other...I know enough to know that you two will get on like a house on fire."

"Hmm, I very much doubt that, but I'm glad you're optimistic, I guess?" 

"Just give it a chance, okay? If it's really horrible, we'll bow out early and not stay the night. I'll be right there with you; I'm not just throwing you to the wolves, okay?"

Draco sighed, and brought his hand up to rest in Harry's hair. "Okay."

"We need to get going now," Harry said gently.

Draco sighed again. "Okay." He braced himself as Harry pulled away, but dutifully straightened up and went to the partially open window.

He whistled sharply twice, and Bartholomew zoomed in from wherever he'd been roaming, perching neatly on Draco's outstretched arm. 

Draco fed him a few treats and gently stroked the side of his face with a finger.

"Hello my sweet boy," he cooed at the owl, and Harry rolled his eyes at the ridiculous coddling. He had loved Hedwig quite a lot, but...Draco really took it to a whole other level.

"We'll just be gone for two days — maybe less — and I left you a fresh bowl of water right here, see?" He pointed to the bowl of water in Bartholomew's cage. "The window is open just enough for you; you just got in fine, so there shouldn't be any problems."

He fixed the owl with a stern look. "And I'll know if you don't come home to sleep, young man. No staying up 'til all hours, alright? I trust you to feed yourself; you're a very smart hunter, I know, but you deserve some treats too." He fed him a few more treats, and kissed the top of his head.

Bartholomew made a halfhearted peck at the Snitch hovering around the collar of Draco's shirt, and he jerked the arm Bartholomew was perched on back a bit.

"Uh-uh, you know better," Draco said, levelling a finger at the bird. He paused a moment, making sure Bartholomew understood, before dropping another kiss on his head.

"Daddy loves you, I've got to go now." Bartholomew took the dismissal, and hopped down onto the windowsill, before flying off.

"Are you done?"

Draco sniffed haughtily. "Don't be rude. He's a very special boy; he can't just be _abandoned_ with no explanation."

"You're aware he's an _owl_ , right? He has no idea what you said."

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "You haven't a clue what he can understand. You wouldn't get it, you're not his father."

"Neither are you, because he's a _bird_." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco said, failing entirely to explain just how _Harry_ was being the ridiculous one.

Harry just sighed and closed his eyes, as he heaved the bag full of their gifts onto his shoulder. He held his hand out. "Shall we side-along?"

Draco nodded, grabbing his hand. And then— 

"Wait." He was probably squeezing his hand too tightly, but now that they were actually _leaving_ , Draco was nervous all over again. This was going to end badly.

"What?"

Draco knew he could only stall for so much longer, he'd have to face the music at some point today. At least Harry would be there as a buffer.

"Can I have a kiss first?"

Harry smiled. "Of course."

And how could he say no? Even the most ridiculously aggravating parts of Draco, Harry still found endearing. 

He knew he was in deep, and he knew it was hopeless, but he couldn't help wanting to do anything he could to ease Draco's worry. And surely there was nothing wrong with that? Friends with benefits — or whatever it was that they were to Draco — were allowed to care for each other.

He gave him a soft, slow kiss, trying to force as much calm Draco's way as possible. "Good?"

"Good enough, I suppose. Okay, Apparate us."


	11. Chapter 11

With a turn and a _Crack!_ , they were in Ottery St. Catchpole, with the Burrow in view.

Harry squeezed his hand. "Even at the very worst, you'll still get to have plenty of Molly's wonderful cooking," he assured him.

"Yes, hopefully mine won't be laced with anything,"

Harry scoffed, pulling him along toward the house. "Oh come on, they don't hate you _that_ much."

When they reached the door, Draco balked again.

"It's going to be fine," Harry reassured once more.

"One more kiss? For courage?"

Harry laughed. "For courage." And kissed him.

"Okay, let's go." 

Harry opened the door. "Hullo everybody!"

"HARRY!" Several loud voices greeted him, and suddenly he was hugging Bill and Fleur’s children, who had jumped on him, and then George and Percy.

"Oh, is Harry here?" Molly bustled out of the kitchen.

"Happy Christmas!" He hugged her tightly, before stepping back and grabbing Draco's hand again, tugging him forward a few steps. "This is Draco, now that you can be _properly_ introduced to him."

There was a short, awkward silence — a rarity in the Burrow — as everyone just watched, before Molly finally said "Well...happy Christmas, then," to Draco with a plastic smile.

"Thank you." " _Mum_." Draco and Harry spoke at the same time.

"We'll talk later, Harry." And Molly bustled off back into the kitchen.

"Well, that was nice and awkward," George said loudly, offering a hand to Draco. "I'm not expecting to like you, considering you being an absolute dickhead all the time and all that, but I figure if Harry likes you and Ron says you're okay, then I'm not too bothered."

"Thank you," Draco said, shaking his hand. George nodded decisively and turned back to the living room.

"Oi, Harry! I thought I heard you come in,” Ron shouted, coming in from the back yard, and making his way across the room to hug him. “Malfoy,” he nodded at Draco, before turning back to Harry. “Me, Bill, and Charlie were setting up to play some Quidditch in the back, want in? ‘Mione and Fleur are out there too.”

“Not right now; maybe you can get Ginny to join to even out the teams? Where is she, anyway?”

“Late! I’ve no idea what she’s up to, but I guess we’ll see if Bill succeeds in convincing Fleur to join — you know she can be wicked on a broom." He lowered his voice. "Don’t tell mum, but I think she’s pregnant again though, so I dunno if that’s a great idea. Maybe I can get George on board, although…” he trailed off. George hadn’t been particularly fond of flying since the whole incident with his ear getting taken off.

“Where’s Angelina, then?” Harry looked about for her. “I’m sure she’d be happy to beat you all into the dust.”

“Mum guilted her into helping out in the kitchen. She’s really been in a snit all morning about…” he glanced over at Draco. “She’ll get over it soon enough, though.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ll go save Ange, I need to talk to Molly anyway.”

“Good luck on that one, mate.” Ron clapped him on the shoulder, and disappeared again out the back.

Harry felt Draco squeeze his hand. “Hmm?”

“Please don’t leave me in the middle of a horde of Weasleys. They’ll eat me alive,” Draco muttered in his ear.

Harry snorted. “They _won’t_. Go find Hermione — if she’s outside, she’s probably been accosted by Arthur, and if you save her from having to explain electricity or some other Muggle thing all afternoon, she’ll be _more_ than happy to stick by you.”

Draco looked doubtful. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Just tell her I asked you to ask her about something, I don’t know. She’ll take the out.”

Draco grimaced, but let go of Harry’s hand, following the path Ron had taken out the back door.

“Well _he_ looked like you were sending him off to an execution,” George commented from the middle of the living room floor, where he was helping Victoire and Dominique construct a tower of Exploding Snap cards.

“He’s nervous about being left alone with you lot whilst I go talk to Molly," Harry said, heading over to set the bag of wrapped presents next to the overflowing tree.

“Mm, he should be. _I_ would be if I were him.”

“Oh come on, he’s not so bad. Nobody’s asking for everything to be forgiven and forgotten, just for two days...be civil.”

“Right. Still think you’re a little barmy for all this, but…”

Harry sighed. “He’s very different, really. It took me by surprise how difficult it was _not_ to like him.”

“Oh I know how difficult it is for _you_ not to like him; we saw you snogging before you came in.”

He blushed. “We weren’t _snogging_ , it was just— he was nervous.”

"Sure, sure," George said, waving a dismissive hand. "Go rescue Ange from Mum's clutches. I know she'll want to join the game."

Harry rolled his eyes and headed into the kitchen.

"Hey Angelina! I can take over helping if you like. They're starting a Quidditch game out back and Ron told me to send you."

"Harry! Hi, so nice to see you," Angelina hugged him (which she had to bend down a bit for, as she was still — and would apparently always be — taller than him). "Great Godric, _thank you_ ," she whispered in his ear, and promptly scurried out of the kitchen before Molly could say anything.

"Thank you, Harry dear, you're always so helpful," Molly said, waving a bowl of potatoes into the sink with her wand.

Harry rolled up his sleeves and started to scrub, as she started to talk and ask him questions about seemingly any and everything _besides_ Draco and their relationship.

Finally, after the fourth reminder that he was welcome for dinner any time, and that they missed seeing him, and after he exhaustively explained everything about his not-so-new-anymore job, there was a moment of silence, and Harry seized the opportunity.

"So. I wanted to talk to you about Draco."

Molly turned away, seemingly to mind one of the pots on the stove, and replied absently, "Of course, dear."

Harry sighed and put down the knife he was chopping carrots with, turning to look at her. "I told you when we talked over the Floo about this that I'm not expecting any miracles. I _know_ there's a lot of history between your families, and even just between him and a lot of us. But I just want you to try, _please_. He's grown a lot as a person, he really has, and I care about him a lot, Molly."

She sighed and turned to face him. "It's not that I don't _want_ to try, it's just… I just can't _understand_. 

"No matter how different he is, how can you just _forgive—_ how can you care about someone who bullied you and Hermione and Ron? His _father_ gave Ginny that horrible notebook that almost— that almost—" she put a hand over her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. "And Bill! Without him, Bill would never have been mauled by that—" she cut herself off again.

"I know. I know, and he knows, and he's not seeking forgiveness for any of that. But he's not his father. You know I hated his guts when we were younger, I get it. But he's a different person. 

"I almost killed him with that hex in Sixth Year. Hermione erased her parents' memories. Percy renounced the family. But you still love all of us, even though we've done some messed up things. He was a kid too, and can you imagine being raised by Lucius Malfoy? Living in the same house as Voldemort? I'm not saying anything he did was okay, I'm not saying there's an excuse, but I _am_ saying it's easy to say we would've done better in his situation, but we just don't know.

"I'd just like you to give him a chance. I understand you're wary, and you just want what's best for me, but I think if you just give him a chance you won't be disappointed. He makes me so happy, and I just want you to be able to see that." 

He swallowed back the guilt of lying about their 'relationship' to Molly. Most everything he'd said was true. 

He _did_ care about Draco, and Draco _had_ grown, and he really did make Harry happier than he'd ever been. And if it could only be temporary, or strictly as friends, then so be it.

Molly hugged him tightly, and he could feel her crying. "Oh Harry, that's all I want for you, really. I just want you to be happy. I'm just afraid that he's not going to be the one to do that. I had hoped...maybe you and Ginny—"

"Me and Ginny aren't ever getting back together. Regardless of anything to do with Draco," he said gently. "She's like a sister to me, and we just work so much better as friends. And I know _she_ doesn't want to get back together either; we _both_ decided not to be together."

"I know, I know. It's just… He really makes you happy? He's who you want?"

"Yes." He really was.

She patted his back. "Okay, dear. I'll try. For you."

"Thank you." He squeezed her tighter.

After a few moments she let go and patted him on the cheek.

"Alright, I won't be needing help in here any longer, I can manage on my own. Take a few biscuits back out there with you." She waved a tin over and pressed it into his hands. "Just don't let the little ones spoil their appetites."

"Thanks mum." He kissed her on the cheek and took his exit.

Bill and Fleur's children were thrilled about the biscuits, and within a few minutes they both had icing sugar down their fronts, and jam smeared around their mouths.

Harry and George grabbed a few for themselves before passing the tin to Percy for safekeeping. Neither Harry nor George was particularly good at saying no, and he doubted Molly would be pleased if the children ate the whole tin themselves before dinner.

Harry cast a few cleaning charms over the kids, and they both collapsed into giggles, saying that it tickled. Of course then one of the Exploding Snap cards decided to live up to its name, exploding and sending the whole house of cards tumbling down, and singeing the ends of some of Dominique's hair.

Harry and George exchanged a glance.

"Whoops. Better not tell Fleur about that," George muttered, and Harry grimaced, casting another cleaning charm over the kids to get rid of the ashes, which sent them into yet another fit of giggles.

"Perhaps there's a bit too much excitement going on," Harry said. "I think I'll take a page out of Percy's book and just read for a bit."

"Suit yourself," George said, and then turned back to the kids. "Do you want to go watch everybody play some Quidditch?"

They all excitedly trooped outside, after getting bundled up, and Harry picked up a random book off the end table to flip through it.

Gardening tips and tricks. Huh, well he wouldn't say it was the most interesting thing to him, but he was sure it could keep him occupied for a few minutes.

Indeed, only a few minutes passed before the need for a distraction was no more.

"Sorry I'm late! Happy Christmas everybody!" Ginny burst in the front door with several bags, which she immediately dropped on the floor — likely to deal with later — and headed straight to the kitchen.

"Hi mum! Sorry, I got caught up with some friends—"

It sounded like Molly was practically smothering her with hugs.

"Oh it's alright! But you haven't been home in so long, I've missed you. I saw the Harpies are on another winning streak…"

They didn't chat for very long before Ginny was back in the sitting room like a redheaded tornado, still munching on a biscuit. She hugged Percy, and then headed over to him.

"Harry!" She did a full-body flop straight onto the sofa on top of him. "Where is everybody?" She asked, mouth still full of crumbs. Although she hated being told it, sometimes Harry thought she was so much like Ron.

"Oof. Hi Ginny." He tried in vain to turn his head to keep her long hair from getting in his mouth. "They're out back. Quidditch." He explained, gasping for breath. "Going to let me breathe anytime soon? Budge up!" He found himself grinning though, even as he complained.

"Predictable." She said, finally swallowing properly, and brushing crumbs off of her front. Presumably she was talking about the Quidditch, but perhaps also about Harry's complaining. "Anyway, I've missed you!"

"I've missed you too." He pushed at her until she resituated herself. "Watch the shoulder," Harry complained, as she accidentally jostled his bad shoulder, sending a bolt of pain up to his neck.

"Sorry, sorry!" She finally settled in, sitting between his legs and leaning back against his chest. "You always were comfy to lie on though." 

He rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, I'm practically a sofa."

Ginny elbowed him lightly in the ribs, and leant her head back on his good shoulder. "Fuck off! Now tell me about this whole thing with Malfoy. How in the hell did _that_ get started?"

Harry sighed and tilted his head a bit so he could speak quietly in her ear without Percy or Molly overhearing. He told her nearly everything, editing small bits to leave out that they weren't _really_ together, and being a bit vague about the timeline.

As he talked, he absently toyed with her hair, twirling a strand around his fingers. He really had missed Ginny quite a lot. A big part of the reason they'd stayed together so long was that they were just so comfortable with each other and they got on so well together. 

Honestly, they probably _could_ have made it work if they had really wanted to, but...they'd found that they had both so slowly drifted away from romance that they'd hardly noticed. And when they _did_ notice, neither of them really saw the point in forcing it when they were heading different directions in life anyway.

He always appreciated their time together though, even though it had been increasingly rare since they'd broken up and stopped living together. She was so busy with Quidditch, and he was busy trying to figure out what in the world he was doing with his life, and it felt like they hardly got any time to talk anymore.

"So that's pretty much it," he said, as he finished catching her up to speed on his life and his relationship with Draco. "What about you? You have to 've been doing _something_ besides Quidditch for the last…I dunno, six months since we talked? Merlin, did we really let it go that long?"

"Longer, I think," she laughed. "I'm pretty sure the last time we actually had a proper chat was...last spring? I barely got to see you on your birthday, so that hardly counts."

Harry shook his head. "Hardly. So what _have_ you been up to?"

Ginny got a devilish grin on her face, and glanced quickly toward the kitchen, and then toward Percy. Once she'd made sure nobody appeared to be listening, she turned her head to talk softly in Harry's ear.

"Well. Don't tell mum, but I've been seeing someone. Two someones, actually, and it's— oh, Harry it's going _so_ well! But I don't want to jinx it, and, well, with mum already up in arms about you and Malfoy, I didn't want to add fuel to the fire. Plus, I don't really know if they're as serious about it as I am…" She trailed off, and Harry waited for a moment, before flicking the back of her head.

"Well tell me about it! _I_ told _you_ everything, now fess up. Who are they? How did you meet?"

Harry could practically feel her smiling that ridiculously goofy excited smile as she told him all about Luna deciding to try adding a sports section to the Quibbler and the two of them getting closer as Ginny tried to help her out, and then being confused about whether they loved each other as close friends or as something romantic. They'd decided to try and see where that went, but it had felt a bit off, like they were still walking the line between friends and girlfriends. 

And then Luna had decided to hire a sports reporter (after a horrible attempt at trying sports reporting herself that Ginny couldn't stop laughing about trying to retell).

"I love her to bits, but—" she burst into giggles again, and wiped her watering eyes. "Whew."

Only one person had applied for the position: Cho Chang. She'd apparently been working as a sports reporter for Quidditch Quarterly since leaving Hogwarts, and not been very happy at the job. So when she saw the advert in the paper, and remembered the Quibbler being the only publication telling the truth about Voldemort coming back and how Cedric died, she'd decided to interview — and she was an instant fit.

"She got close to Luna really quickly working together, and they were both coming to all of my games, and we all just kind of…fell into it. I never imagined that's what was missing with me and Luna, but it was _her_. Harry, we just work so well together and they're so perfect, and I just." She let out a slow breath.

"I was late today because I really, _really_ just did not want to leave them. Cho already visited her family for the holidays, because Chanukkah was early this year; and since the Lovegoods operate the Quibbler out of their house, I was the only one who had to go. We all got to celebrate the first few days of Yule together, and I know it's silly because it's just two of the days, and I _want_ to be here for Christmas, but I'm still sad that I'm the _only one_ who's not gonna be there today and tomorrow. And I just— I already miss them, and I'm afraid I'm jumping in too much too fast. I already love them so much, but I'm just afraid that they see it as more of a casual thing, and I'm afraid to try to have a talk about it because I don't wanna be that crazy clingy girlfriend.

"Xenophilius knows and is supportive — more than, actually. He was 'overjoyed that Luna had found such wondrous partners,' I think he said." She briefly smiled, recalling his words, but it quickly dropped again. "But I know Cho hasn't told her parents. I don't know if that actually _means_ anything though, because _I'm_ not ready to tell mum yet either, and I just…I don't know."

Harry patted her arm. "They're not going to think you're a crazy, clingy girlfriend. Come on, since when has Luna ever been judgemental? And I'll admit I didn't know Cho very well, but she was a very nice person from what I can remember. I don't think a little clarification is going to ruin everything at all; it seems more likely that continuing with everybody not knowing if they're on the same page will end up causing problems."

Ginny sighed and let her head drop back onto his shoulder. "Yeah, you're right. I just really, really like them, and I don't wanna mess this up."

"You won't, come on," he wrapped her in a hug and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "I'm sure everything will turn out just fine, and you'll all end up old biddies, still together and talking about Quidditch and nargles and whatever else. It sounds like it's been going really well so far, and I'm so, so happy for you. It's bound to work out, I can feel it."

She smiled. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me. Including the Valentine's Days we spent together."

"Hey now, I can be sweet! I gave you chocolates!"

"Hm. Chocolates count for a lot, but not everything."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever — so _picky_ , no wonder we broke up."

Ginny laughed, and then sighed. "I miss my girlfriends. Don't get me wrong, you're an excellent cuddler, but…yeah I miss my girlfriends, they've got you beat."

Harry snorted. "I can live with that, I think."

"Aww, aren't you two just the sweetest?"

They both looked up to see Molly looking at them with her hand over her heart.

" _Mum!_ " They both complained, in unison.

She held her hands up. "I didn't mean anything by it, I heard you just fine earlier. Just wanted to tell you dinner's on; I'm about to let the others know, if you want to go ahead and get seats."

They both clambered to their feet, and Harry stretched, popping his back. 

Ginny made a face at the sound, and headed toward the dining room. "Come on, let's save your boyfriend a seat so he doesn't get stuck at the kids table."


	12. Chapter 12

Draco had found dinner to be a surprisingly pleasant — if incredibly boisterous — affair for the most part.

The food had been delicious, and if it _had_ been laced with something after all...well, it might have been worth it for the taste.

Molly had been noticeably less cold to him, and Draco thought Harry must have had that talk with her, which made him a bit uncomfortable. He already felt he was intruding on the family gathering, and the idea of Harry asking for more on his behalf made him feel guilty.

And then there was also Ginevra.

Draco knew it was ridiculous to feel jealous. He and Harry weren't even really together, so it certainly wasn't his place; and it wasn't really his business whether Harry and Ginevra were just close friends or still interested in each other. 

Plus, stooping to jealousy just felt so...silly. But he couldn't help the pang he had felt when he'd come in for a respite from the cold and saw the two of them cuddled together, laughing and whispering on the sofa. Harry was a tactile friend and a cuddler, Draco knew that now, so it didn't even necessarily mean anything, but it still hurt a bit.

Ginevra seemed likeable too, though, and that was the other problem. Draco really didn't want to hate her, and he couldn't help hoping that what Harry had said before they'd left (about the two of them getting along once she warmed up to him) would be true. But as he watched Harry put a comfortable arm over her shoulders and lean his head against hers — even as he held Draco's hand on the other side — he resented her just a little bit.

Harry nudged Draco's foot with his, and looked at him out of the corner of his eye, head still resting on Ginevra's shoulder.

"Feeling okay?" He mouthed, and Draco nodded and squeezed his hand. He didn't need to be ruining Harry's holiday too with his petty jealousy.

Still, it made something inside his chest glow a little warmer to have Harry paying close attention to him and caring about his comfort.

Harry squeezed his hand back, and brought them up to press a kiss to the back of Draco's hand. He let them drop again and traced his thumb over the edge of Draco's ring, which made him feel just a tiny bit more soft and glowy inside. Not that anybody had to know that.

Draco watched as Harry closed his eyes like a contented cat — possibly listening in to Ron's fantastical story about a recent Auror bust, or perhaps lost in his thoughts. 

And maybe Draco felt pretty content right now too. Even with his discomfort, feeling like he didn't belong at the Weasley family's Christmas, and his silly jealousy, and his stupidly hopeless pining after Harry. The room was warm and filled with laughter and chatter, and he was holding hands with the man who had so quickly wormed his way into his life, and who was now — to Draco's surprise — his best friend. He was safe and full of good food, and he thought maybe things didn't have to live up to your highest hopes to be worth enjoying.

◇◇◇

About the time Bill and Fleur took their leave to put the kids to bed, Harry started nodding off heavily. After about five minutes of nearly being smushed under the ever-farther-leaning dead weight, Ginny pushed his head off her shoulder.

Harry blinked his eyes open with a small, betrayed noise, but Ginny only rolled her eyes. "Oh no you don't, you big lug. You've got a boyfriend for that now," she said, elbowing him in the side until he shifted his weight off of her. 

"He's a better pillow than you anyway," Harry mumbled, resituating himself to curl against Draco's side.

"Good." Ginny replied, rolling her arm, and trying to shake the feeling of pins and needles from it. "Don't know how you do it," she said to him.

Draco blinked in surprise at being addressed directly. "Oh, erm. It's not too bad. He's sweet when he's sleepy."

"Well more power to ya," she said, taking a swig of her eggnog. "He's not exactly known for being sweet, so you must be doing something right."

Harry flipped her two fingers. 

"Harry! What was that I just saw?" Molly scolded from across the room.

"Sorry mum." He mumbled, halfheartedly, face still buried against Draco's shoulder.

Ginny snorted in laughter, and Harry picked up his head to glare back at her. She stuck out her tongue.

"Do you want to go to bed, love?" Draco asked quietly, and Harry turned back to him. "Thought you might like to go upstairs if you're falling asleep."

Harry yawned. "Yeah. Prob'ly should."

He got to his feet and held out a hand to help Draco up. "Night all. I'm going to head to bed."

"Night Harry!" Everyone remaining awake chorused. 

Draco followed silently behind him.

"We're going to be staying in Ron's room." Harry said, as they climbed the steep stairs. "Ron and 'Mione will be too. It's all the way up at the top. Don't mind if the ghoul's in there, he likes to hang out sometimes, but we can chase him off."

"The ghoul?"

"The ghoul that lives in their attic. It likes to hang about Ron's room quite a bit."

"Good to know, I guess," Draco said, faintly. "And how many flights of stairs do we have to go up?" 

"Eh..." Harry thought for a moment. "A few?"

When they finally got to the top, Draco was panting.

"You alright?" Harry asked, amused.

"Fuck off. Just, let's get rid of the ghoul or whatever we have to do."

Harry opened the door and looked in. "No ghoul — we're all clear."

"Thank Merlin for small favours."

Draco squirmed out of his robes and collapsed onto the small bed on the right side of the room, and Harry got in beside him, settling the quilt over them.

It didn't take long for both of them to drift off to sleep.

◇◇◇

Draco woke up some time in the wee hours of the morning to a kick in the shin.

He groaned, only half awake, and was rewarded with another kick. He groggily reached down to grab at Harry's leg, in hopes of preventing another kick.

"Harry, I love you, but if you kick me again I'm going to punch you in the throat."

Harry's head jerked to the side, and Draco blinked away the sleepy haze enough to realise he was clearly still asleep. And apparently having a nightmare.

"Shite." Well now he felt kind of bad for threatening violence. But he really wasn't responsible for things he said when half-asleep.

He shook Harry's good shoulder gently. "Harry, Harry, come on, wake up. Harry."

Harry blinked his eyes open, and sat up in an abrupt movement, looking about the room and breathing heavily.

"You okay?"

"Fuck." Harry looked down at him, and slowly laid back down. "Sorry," he said. And then again, "Fuck."

Draco put an arm over Harry's waist, holding him loosely. "D'you wanna talk about it?" he asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. "No, it's okay." He intertwined his hand with Draco's, resting them on his stomach. "I just...haven't had a nightmare like that in a while." He shook his head again. "I haven't slept in here since the war, that's probably what's messing with me."

Draco kissed his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"'S'okay. 'S nice," Harry murmured, eyes sliding shut again as Draco planted a few more kisses over his shoulder and the top of his arm.

Draco curled against his side. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart," he whispered.

Harry hummed contentedly and obediently dropped back off into unconsciousness. Draco shut his eyes too, but he quickly realised his brain was wide awake and there was no chance of him getting back to sleep now.

He sighed deeply and curled tighter against Harry's side, resigning himself to tracing his thumb lightly over the side of Harry's hand and losing himself in thought.

Unfortunately, his mind seemed to want to gravitate toward his stupid feelings for Harry.

And really, he'd stopped denying it. He fully admitted to himself that, somewhere along the way, he'd fallen foolishly, ridiculously in love with Harry. It was just that he tried not to focus on it whenever possible, because it was so painful sometimes being so close to what he wanted, but knowing it was just a pairing of convenience for Harry.

He didn't care — not really — as long as he stayed friends with Harry. Whether that friendship included their fake relationship and/or the current 'benefits' that they had or not, he was past pretending he wouldn't rather have Harry in his life in any capacity than completely absent from it.

But he _was_ awfully in love with him, and it only seemed to be getting worse by the day. And in his weaker moments, acknowledging the futility of those feelings hurt in a way he'd never encountered before.

It wasn't too terribly long before there was stirring from the bed across the room.

"Morning," he heard Hermione whisper.

Ron yawned loudly. "Morning. Merlin I'm tired. Did Harry wake you up earlier too?"

"Yeah. All that thrashing around; I felt bad, but at least Malfoy woke him up." Draco could hear drawers in the bureau being opened and shut, but he kept his eyes closed.

Ron scoffed. "Not before threatening to punch him in the throat— you think mum's going to put up a fuss if I don't wear last year's jumper? She's bound to be giving me another one in a few hours anyway."

"Mm, I think it'll be alright." Hermione agreed. "And I can't really blame him; sometimes I feel like punching _you_ in the throat when you're keeping me up with that awful snoring."

"Oi! I've told you before, just cast a silencing charm if it's so bad!"

Hermione shushed him. "Don't wake them! Could you zip me up?" There was the sound of a zipper.

"Mmm I can smell bacon, I bet hardly anybody else will have gotten into it yet."

"It does smell good— have you seen my other earring? The wreath stud?"

In a matter of minutes, they were quietly leaving the room, shutting the door carefully behind themselves.

Draco was glad to know they didn't seem to suspect anything off about his and Harry's relationship. It was a bit embarrassing that they'd heard him threaten to punch Harry in the throat, though. And if they'd heard that, then they'd also heard him accidentally tell Harry he loved him.

He was just glad Harry had still been asleep for that bit.

Harry murmured something unintelligible and turned over, and Draco checked the time. Half seven. He should probably get up, because he hadn't a clue when the Weasleys usually started their festivities, but he could surely let Harry sleep a little longer. He looked so peaceful, and really, he deserved it after the nightmare he'd had.

◇◇◇

Draco felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket, and pulled it out to look, grateful for the distraction from the discomfort of sitting at the Weasley's breakfast table. Harry was beside him, chattering away with Ron and Hermione, but Draco still felt horribly out of place.

**1 New Message** ****

**Show Exit**

> **From: Missy**
> 
> **Cn u cm n 2 wrk 2day? Srry abt late notice smth cm up w Derek, no worries if nt**
> 
> **xx**
> 
> **Wed, 25 Dec, 8:24 am**

**Reply**

He sighed. Of course he was being called in. Well they were out of luck — even as awkward as he felt here, he couldn't just leave. Also, he didn't particularly feel like going into work on Christmas.

> **To: Missy**
> 
> **[29/160]**
> 
> **Srry nt in Lndn, family stuff**

> **From: Missy**
> 
> **K no prblm. Thot u didn't hv any family left tho? No offence xx**
> 
> **Wed, 25 Dec, 8:26 am**

Draco sighed. He really didn't need the reminder that all his family was dead on Christmas. He briefly considered telling her to fuck off, but he knew she didn't mean anything by it really.

> **To: Missy**
> 
> **[21/160]**
> 
> **Ya. Harry's family...**

He hesitated a moment, his finger over the OK button to send. None of his coworkers had said anything about the whole dating-another-man thing, but he didn't want to push it. Then again, it's not like it wasn't bound to come up again at some point anyway...

He pushed send.

Harry nudged his arm. "Are they trying to call you in on Christmas?"

Draco looked up. "No. Well, they did, but I said no. Missy's just being nosey now." His phone vibrated again, and he looked down.

> **From: Missy**
> 
> **Ooo gud luck w the in-laws. Tell H hi 4 me :-***
> 
> **Wed, 25 Dec, 8:27 am**

Draco felt himself blush. They weren't his _in-laws_ , and that just made it seem so...so like he and Harry were that kind of forever couple.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, she says hi."

He clicked the 5 twice quickly for a simple 'K', and pressed send, snapping the phone shut.

"Ooh is that one of those brilliant Muggle inventions?" Draco turned to see Arthur Weasley peering down the table with interest at the shiny silver phone in his hand.

"Erm. Yeah." He saw Harry get up out of the corner of his eye, and turned toward him, silently pleading _Don't leave me here with them— bastard!_ Harry didn't appear to notice, sending his dishes into the kitchen with a flick of his hand, and following Ron and Hermione into the sitting room.

"What does it do?" Arthur asked interestedly, and Draco hesitantly turned back to him. Fuck. Now he was going to have to have a full-on conversation with the head of the Weasley clan (who he'd never even directly spoken to, as far as he could remember) completely by himself about Muggle technology he barely understood himself. Oh, Harry was definitely in deep shit for abandoning him.

◇◇◇

After fielding what felt like hundreds of questions about mobile phones and texting and long-distance communication, Draco finally managed to excuse himself from the conversation.

He let out a long breath of relief once he found himself alone in the kitchen. The day had hardly begun and he was already exhausted, which could hardly bode well for the rest of the day, he thought.

He set his dishes in the sink, and frowned when they merely sat there. 

Well that wouldn't do. He fixed them with a stern look, and they hesitantly began to scrub themselves. There. He wasn't going to let a few undisciplined dishes make him look like a poor houseguest.

Unfortunately, now that the dishes were taking care of themselves there was no more stalling to be done, and he'd have to go out there with everybody else again.

He reluctantly left the safety of the kitchen and ventured into the living room where everyone else had gathered. 

Harry was settled in on the Weasleys' overstuffed sofa, with Ron's arm around him, and his arm hanging over Ron's shoulder to hold hands with Hermione, who was leant against Ron's other side. Draco quickly made his way over to him, and dragged a padded stool over from under a window to behind the couch, hoping he'd feel a little less awkward if he could physically keep himself on the periphery of the room. 

He consciously stuffed down his envy at the sight of the two of them cuddling with Harry, as he settled in. For Salazar's sake, if he'd felt silly yesterday for being jealous of Ginevra, that was nothing compared to the level of ridiculousness he felt now. He'd heard the way Harry talked about his best friends, and he knew there was nothing to be jealous of — even if Weasley and Granger had been capable of having eyes for anyone but each other. 

Truly, though Draco called it sickening, he actually thought it was rather sweet; and it would at least make sense to be envious of the easy, quiet rightness to their relationship (which, he was, but he wasn't going to admit that anytime soon), rather than their closeness with Harry.

Harry tilted his head back over the back of the sofa to look up at him. "Hey love." Harry cupped his cheek with a hand, looking up at him with those soft eyes, and _oh_ that was very dangerous. Draco could already feel he'd forgiven him entirely for abandoning him at breakfast, and for cuddling with Ron and Hermione instead of him. Dammit.

Sometimes when Harry looked at him like that, all soft and loving, it took him a bit to remember how to remind himself that it wasn't real. Sure, Harry was a very loving person, and Draco didn't doubt that he cared for him a lot, but it wasn't that kind of love. They weren't another Ron and Hermione, and they were never going to be. He needed to remember that.

"Hey," he finally responded, a bit awkwardly.

Harry frowned. "You okay?"

"Just tired," he responded automatically, before biting his tongue. Shite, he hadn't meant it to sound like that.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you—"

"No, no it's fine really. I didn't mean you, I'm just still a bit nervous is all."

Harry dug through the pile of wrapped gifts on the cushion beside him for a few seconds, before giving up and holding his hand out for the right present to come to him. He handed Draco the lumpy parcel that had flown into his hand and smiled.

"Maybe this'll make you feel better. Molly gave it to me for you."

"Oh." Draco took it hesitantly. "That's very sweet of her." And he meant it. When they'd arrived yesterday it had been incredibly clear she didn't approve of him, but she'd still gone out of her way to get him a gift, and he appreciated the effort.

He ripped open the paper (he didn't think he needed to wait, as several others around the room were already tearing open gifts of their own). Inside were a matching scarf and hat, such a deep green that they were almost black.

"Oh, you've opened your present. I hope you don't mind, I didn't have time to make the gloves too. Maybe next year," Molly said to him, as she directed several steaming mugs of hot chocolate to various people around the room with her wand as she was ladling them out of the cauldron over the fire.

Draco swallowed hard and blinked back the tears that had suddenly sprung to his eyes. "No, that's perfectly fine. Thank you. They're lovely."

He was not going to cry. But fuck she'd _made_ them? For him? And she was expecting Harry to bring him back next year?

Draco stroked a hand over the soft scarf, and was suddenly overcome with how much he missed his mother. Maybe it was Missy's text earlier that had brought it to the front of his mind, or maybe it was just being cared for by a mother again after several years, but whatever the reason, it hurt.

His father's death had hurt him — even as much as he disliked some of the things about the man his father had been and the choices he'd made. But his mother's death had really hit him hard, and he'd forgotten the particular feeling that came from being mothered. 

Even with Rodya's fussing over him, they were still more of a friend rather than an actual parental figure. Feeling like he'd been even just partially accepted into the fold here made his heart feel full in a way he hadn't known it still could. 

"I'm glad you like them," Molly smiled at him, and directed a mug his way, before turning her attention to little Victoire, who was tearing open a similarly lumpy parcel.

"Happy Christmas," Harry said quietly, grabbing his hand to press a kiss to the back of it.

His Snitch tattoo fluttered down to the back of his hand where Harry's lips had been, and Draco pointedly looked away from it. He'd noticed the Snitch had increasingly taken to following wherever Harry touched him, particularly when he kissed him, and Draco found the level of affection that it betrayed endlessly embarrassing. At least Harry hadn't yet commented on it.

"Happy Christmas." He said back. "Now start unwrapping your presents. You've got a veritable mountain of them."

Draco was content to spend the next few hours watching Harry and the others unwrapping their gifts and chattering away. He'd gotten rather comfortable leant forward onto the back of the sofa with his chin resting on Harry's shoulder, occasionally making quiet comments or jokes in Harry's ear.

Harry cast a warming spell on his half-empty mug of hot chocolate and picked it up again. "Open the one from me next," he urged Ron, who looked through his mostly-decimated gift pile for the right one.

"'S it a book?" He asked around the candy cane in his mouth, looking at the flat, rectangular package.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Think I know you better than that. Just open it."

Draco bit his lip, restraining himself from making a crack about Ron's reading ability. Might come across a bit mean, even if he didn't really mean it.

"Oh this is sick! How'd you get your hands on one so soon after the ban was lifted?" Ron exclaimed, once he'd ripped through the wrapping paper. He held the flying carpet up, looking over it admiringly. "I've wanted a go on one of these for ages."

"I know." Harry grinned, "When I saw they'd been taken off the Registry, it seemed obvious what I'd be getting you — I've heard you talk about wanting one often enough."

"This is bloody amazing, I can't wait to give it a go — do you know how to ride it?" 

Draco snorted quietly, unable to stop himself from making an inappropriate joke twice in a row. "Yeah you do. Like a goddamn pony," Draco said reverently in Harry's ear, and Harry choked on his hot chocolate as Ron obliviously chattered on.

"Does it work like a broom?" Ron set it down and held his hand over it. "Up." The carpet didn't move.

Harry spluttered and coughed for a few seconds, until the coughing turned into laughter, drawing several eyes from around the room.

"You alright there, Harry?" George asked, and Harry waved him off.

"I'm good, I'm good. Draco just...said something unexpectedly funny."

Great. Now the eyes were all on him.

Draco shrugged awkwardly, and looked down at the sofa cushions. Okay so maybe he should have exercised a bit of restraint, but Harry had found it funny at least.

"I, uh...yeah, I think there's instructions that came with it," Harry told Ron. "I've not tried it either."

Slowly, everybody's attention returned to their own gifts and conversations, and Draco let out a breath.

Hermione bent down, and neatly plucked a folded sheet of parchment from the discarded wrapping paper. "Would this be it?"

"Thanks babe, you're a lifesaver." Ron kissed her on the cheek, and eagerly started looking over the instructions.

Harry leaned back toward Draco and murmured in his ear. "If you're such a fan, I think a repeat performance can be arranged when we get home."

Draco felt himself flush a brilliant red. "Your family is right here," he hissed. He swore he could feel Molly's eyes on him, and he seriously doubted she would approve of this discussion.

"You started it. So is that a no on the repeat performance?"

"No— I meant, yes—" Draco stuttered. "Yes, of course I want—" he cut himself off again as Harry started laughing again. "You're a twat."

"Oh come on, don't get mad," Harry said, still laughing, as Draco leaned back in a huff. He reached up to pull Draco's head back down, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "I'm just taking the piss. I love you."

Draco blushed even darker, and besides the telltale flutter of the Snitch tattoo under his jaw, he swore he felt a flutter in his stomach as well. Stupidly cliché, but he couldn't help it. It had been so casual and simple, clearly no big deal to Harry, but still. He'd said he loved him.

"You're still a twat," Draco grumbled. "But I love you too." There. He'd said it. When Harry was awake and everything.

Even if he meant it in a slightly different way than Harry had, it's not like he had to _tell_ him all that. Keep it simple.

Harry smiled and kissed his cheek again, before letting him go and turning back to Ron and Hermione.

Draco felt the beating of the Snitch's wings on his cheek. Merlin. If it was possible to die from extreme pining, he was definitely going to do it. It boggled his mind how Harry could be so close and yet not quite in the way he really wanted, but he found himself hoping to draw out this fake relationship as long as possible, nonetheless.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains mild display of triggered PTSD at the beginning.

Harry and Draco both startled awake in the same instant as light flashed through the room, briefly lighting it in a sickly green-ish glow, before returning to pitch darkness.

Draco had already lunged for his wand on the bedside table, before a deafening crack of thunder filled the air. It took him a few moments of staring at the sheets of rain pouring just outside the window and at Bartholomew's huffy re-settling before his brain caught up to the fact that it was only a storm. Sweet slumbering Circe, even the _bird_ was handling the storm better than he was. 

He took a deep, steadying breath, and looked over to Harry, who didn't appear to be in much better shape. He looked to be counting quietly under his breath, breathing slowly and intentionally, still staring out the window into downpour.

" _Damn_ I really hate storms," Harry finally muttered, tearing his gaze away from the window to look at Draco. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Draco set his wand carefully back on the bedside table, and sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Are you?"

"Yeah," Harry echoed, letting out a slow breath and running a hand through his hair.

Another crack of thunder sounded, and they both tensed, but stayed where they were.

"Guess I shouldn't put my hopes on getting much more sleep tonight," Harry mumbled, sliding back into bed and resting his head on his hand to look up at Draco.

"Probably not," Draco agreed, sighing. Well at least he couldn't beat himself up for overreacting to the weather when Harry was practically the same. Small comforts.

He slid back under the covers and turned to face Harry.

"'S only three in the morning—" Harry tapped lightly at the tattooed pocket watch on Draco's chest, "—it's gonna be a long night." His voice was complaining, but his hand stopped its tapping and flattened against Draco's chest, warm brown against frosty white. He scooted closer, until they were up against each other, and he could feel Draco's heart beating not just against his hand, but in his own chest.

Draco yawned. "Guess so." He slid a hand over Harry's waist, just to sit there at the dip. It was nice to have the solid reminder that he really wasn't alone in all this. 

He hadn't realised quite how much it had _sucked_ having to go through everything alone the past few years, but now that Harry was in his life, he found it hard to imagine how he could ever go back. Harry wasn't just someone there to lean on when he needed it, but he was someone who actually _understood_ , who went through some of the same things, and who _Draco_ could help support when Harry needed it.

He'd never known how _nice_ it could be to _be_ a shoulder to lean on — had never had the occasion to know before — but it had its own sort of warmth and comfort to it, knowing you could help support someone you loved.

"What're you thinkin' about?" Harry whispered.

Draco blinked, refocusing on Harry's face and his shining, curious eyes. "Just. Really glad you're here." He smiled softly. "I mean, here as in right here, but also just...here in general. I don't know quite what I'd've done with myself if you'd not walked back into my life out of nowhere. Carry on being miserable and taking it one day at a time, I suppose."

Harry smiled, and Draco watched the corners of his eyes crinkle. He wondered if he could ever brew a potion that made him feel _half_ as bright inside as watching Harry's eyes crinkle with a smile.

On second thought, he'd better not try. It was bound to be horrendously addictive.

"Technically _you're_ the one who walked back into _my_ life out of nowhere. _I_ was just at work."

"Details," Draco dismissed, and Harry kissed him. 

It was lazy and slow and sweet and contented, and Draco was forced to reconsider that potion once again. What would be the point in going to all the trouble to brew it when he had something a hundred times more effective right here? Forget _addictive_ — he doubted it'd do anything more than sit and collect dust on the shelf.

"I love you," Harry sighed against his lips.

He felt Draco's lips curve in a small smile. "I love you too."

He'd only said it to Harry (at least, _awake_ ) at the Burrow yesterday, but it already rolled off his tongue easily. It was as if after the first time, the floodgates were open and there was no closing them back.

Draco kissed him again. 

"I—" Harry started. _I love you, **I love you** , I'm so, so impossibly __**in**_ _love with you_. The words pushed against his lips, and he pressed them shut.

Draco pulled back slightly, still grinning. "You?" he prompted teasingly.

"I love you," Harry repeated, forcing his tongue to obey. It came out in a near-whisper, a final protest from his mouth at being stopped there, but it would have to do. That was all he was _allowed_ to say.

Draco chuckled softly. "So I've heard."

He looked so bright, so calm and happy and pleasantly amused — he looked as if there wasn't another place he'd rather be or another person he'd rather be _with_. And suddenly, Harry very much felt like crying.

It just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to Draco to continue on this way, and it was horribly selfish of Harry to have kept on this long under false pretences, when he knew very much that he had been falling for Draco when it wasn't supposed to be real. He should never have started this whole…casual intimacy, and kissing when nobody was around to see business. Merlin, _what_ had he been thinking?

Were he in Draco's position, he'd probably be livid. It wasn't right for them to've _slept together_ under the pretence that it was only as friends, only because they couldn't see anyone else. And sure, it hurt _Harry_ that it wasn't real, but that was the problem, wasn't it? There were _very much_ _so_ strings attached to everything they did, regardless of how Harry tried to act like there weren't, and that wasn't _at all_ what Draco had signed on for. And Harry had only spared a thought for his _own_ hurt at the situation, rather than thinking of how it might hurt _Draco_ had he known the truth.

But, selfishly, Harry continued to keep his mouth shut. He had to tell him. He _had to_ , and he _would_. 

Just...not tonight.

He knew he was horribly self-centred, and a coward to boot, but he just couldn't lose Draco quite yet. The more he thought about it, the more the sinking feeling in his gut grew, and he just _knew_ that when he came clean, Draco wouldn't want anything to do with him.

Perhaps if he'd said something earlier on, back when he'd first noticed, Draco likely could've accepted that. But he _hadn't_ , and now he'd kept quiet, and just continued on for so long and through so much, that even if Draco _did_ forgive him, it would probably take some time. And, of course, their relationship would never be the same again.

He watched Draco silently watching him, felt him stroking a warm thumb over his ribs, and he thought. He thought that maybe this was the stupidest goodbye he'd ever had to give. And Draco wouldn't even know it was a goodbye.

But it would have to be. He was resolved: in the morning he would tell him everything.

He cupped Draco's cheek with his hand. "Thank you."

Draco looked utterly mystified. "For what?" he asked quietly. Harry said nothing. "What are you thinking about? You look so sad."

"The rain's let up," Harry said, instead of answering. "I think the thunder and lightning are done for the night."

Draco blinked, looking over to the window and then back at him curiously.

"We should try to get some more sleep," he continued. He let his hand slide off of Draco's cheek, and Draco's brow creased, but he didn't push the issue.

"Okay. Goodnight then."

"Goodnight," Harry said.

◇◇◇

"'M off to work, sweetheart."

Harry blinked his eyes open as Draco kissed his forehead.

"Hmm?"

"I'll be back 'round one. I'll bring home lunch, yeah?"

"...Kay." Harry mumbled, wiping at his eyes. And then Draco was gone, out the door.

It took Harry a few minutes to gather his wits about him, and— ah _fuck_. He was supposed to confess to Draco this morning. Fuck fuck fuck.

Well, at least Harry wasn't going to ruin his day at work. But still. Fuck. The only way he was going to be able to do it was first thing before he could chicken out, and he'd cocked it all up.

He needed…he needed _advice_ , is what he needed. How to tell your fake-boyfriend/friend-with-benefits that you've actually been sort-of in love with him for months and kept it to yourself because you're a horrible friend and person.

Yeah, Harry didn't think they sold books like that.

Zylphia was impatient with him about this whole thing as it was, so he couldn't tell _her_ ; and Ginny was back in the swing of the Quidditch season, and bound to be spending every spare moment with her girlfriends. And he really didn't think this was a conversation to be had by _owl_ anyway — nor did he want Cho and Luna's _second_ first-impressions of him to be _this_ mess.

There was no way around it. He was going to have to tell Ron and Hermione. _Fuck_.

◇◇◇

Harry had dawdled around, putting off firecalling Ron and Hermione as long as possible. He'd taken a shower, and made himself an elaborate breakfast, and then washed the dishes by hand. He'd even _made the bed_.

Eventually, he could stall no longer, and he had called them — which led to him now sitting in a booth at the Witch's Veil, thanks to Ron's insistence that he just _knew_ he was going to need a drink for this conversation. Despite Hermione and Harry protesting that it was _'only 11:30 in the morning, Ronald'_ , he had persisted, and so here they were.

Ron and Hermione strode out of the pub's Floo, one after the other, and Harry waved them over.

"So." Ron plopped down on the bench beside him, slinging an arm over his shoulders. "What's this _'horrible thing you must confess',_ then?"

Harry swallowed and looked to Hermione, who was seating herself on the bench opposite him. She merely raised her eyebrows expectantly and folded her hands on the table.

"I've...sort of been lying to you guys. For awhile," he admitted sheepishly. "I don't have any excuses, I was being short-sighted and bratty and I decided it was a good idea to lie to everyone. And now I'm in over my head and I need advice, but I can't get any because I was being an idiot and lying to you about it all. So I thought I should come clean at least to you two."

Ron and Hermione stayed silent, watching him.

"Well what is it then?" Ron finally prodded, when he didn't say anything more.

"You're not...mad?" Harry asked.

"Well that depends on how important it is, doesn't it?" Hermione said. "So go on then, what is it?"

"It's _very_ important," Harry said. Although why he seemed to be convincing them to be mad at him was beyond him.

"We can judge that ourselves, thanks." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Okay." Harry looked down at the table and swallowed. "Well...well, I've sort of, me and Draco...the whole thing is fake. We're not really in a relationship and it was just...he was hoping that maybe the wizarding world wouldn't shun him so much, and I just thought it would be a good opportunity to get everyone to _stop_ all this 'when are you going to find a nice witch' nonsense, and it just seemed like a good idea at the time and like maybe then the papers would stop with this 'perfect saviour' idea if I wasn't doing _anything_ I was supposed to, and I'd already quit the Aurors—" Harry cut off his rambling mid-sentence. "And. Yeah. So that's basically it."

He looked up hesitantly, and was surprised to see Hermione covering her mouth and Ron trying to smother a grin.

Finally Hermione burst out laughing. "Oh, is that all?"

Harry crossed his arms and sat back, unsure how to take this. "I don't get what's so funny."

Ron's grin broke through. "Mate. You're not lying."

He held a hand up when Harry started to protest. "No, seriously. Maybe you went into it _meaning_ for it to be a lie, but that's a real relationship if I ever saw one. I mean, the way you two were over the holidays — and _not_ ," he emphasised, before Harry could interrupt, "just in front of everyone. We stayed in the same damn room, and when he woke you up from that nightmare…that wasn't just friends stuff."

"But—" Harry started, and Ron interrupted.

" _And_ ," he said, "when we came over for dinner you two were totally snogging in the kitchen. I think I'd know if you treat _all_ your mates like that."

Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help the blush growing on his face.

"Unless, of course, you _do_ , and _I'm_ the only one being excluded. In which case, I'm horribly offended. Am I not fit enough for you?"

Harry laughed and shoved at his shoulder. "Okay, okay I _know_ it's not just friends stuff, but part of the problem is everything's gotten so _blurry_. We agreed to...you know," he made a vague gesture with his hands, "hook up sometimes, because we can't see anybody else or whatever."

"Oh Harry," Hermione said. "First of all, that was unbelievably stupid."

Harry glared at her. " _Thanks_."

"You're welcome," she said, without pausing. "Second of all, before I forget: please just _talk to us_ next time, instead of cooking up some sort of scheme like this." She met his eyes, and laid a hand over his on the table. "Seriously."

"Alright," Harry said sheepishly, "I will. Promise."

She squeezed his hand. "Good. And third of all...that's a bit of a flimsy excuse even for you. It isn't as if you cared much about not getting laid since you broke up with Ginny — or _before_ her, for that matter."

"Can we not talk about my little sister having sex?" Ron butted in, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh, grow up, Ron," she said, at the same time Harry said, "Well we weren't even fucking for the last...I dunno. Awhile. We basically just ended up like friends who happened to live together, and I don't even know how it happened."

Ron made a pained face, and signalled to the bartender for a pint. "Don't really want to think about the two of you fucking _ever_."

" _Anyway_ ," Hermione said, after Ron's beer had been set on the table, and the bartender had once again retreated. "Back to the _point_ of this discussion. That's a flimsy excuse. You don't care much, and no offence to Draco, but most witches and wizards wouldn't be caught dead with him. And I doubt he has much of a chance with Muggles, with all those moving tattoos. I'd imagine it's a lot harder to ignore when it's not just bits and pieces peeking out of the sleeves."

"True enough. They're bloody _amazing_ to watch though," he sighed.

"Don't fancy thinking about Malfoy naked either," Ron said, sipping his beer.

Harry ignored him. "He said the dragon wasn't fond of _any_ strangers, though, so there has to've been at _least_ , like, two other people before me."

"Do I want to know where the dragon is?" Ron muttered.

"Well okay," Hermione replied, ignoring Ron. "But even say he managed to work something out with three people — that isn't _that_ many, and he _has_ to've dealt with dry spells before. I really can't imagine he cares _that much_. It still sounds like the two of you were just making excuses for what you _wanted_ to do anyway."

"Well yeah, I know _I_ wanted to, I'm the one who suggested it. That's the bloody problem though, isn't it? I've gone and fallen in love with him, and I didn't say anything and now it's been too long and I feel guilty so I've got to tell him, but he's gonna be _pissed_ and it's gonna ruin everything!"

"That seems a _bit_ dramatic, Harry," Hermione said. "And you can't _honestly_ think he's not into you too. With the way he acts? Come on."

"Well I don't know! He probably would've said something if he was, and _I'm_ usually the one to instigate things, and— and it's not as if he has many friends! I've not had the chance to see him around his other friends besides Zylphia, for all I know it's perfectly normal for him!"

"Harry. _Really?_ " Ron's eyebrows were nearly at his hairline.

"Well how am I supposed to— ! Mincing Merlin, _shite_."

" _Mincing Merlin?_ That's new— _Oh_ , bloody hell, he's _here_."

Harry shushed Ron, as Draco walked over to the bar, absently dusting ashes from the Floo off of his t-shirt.

Hermione turned around to watch, and waved a friendly hand once Draco was done ordering.

"No— fuck! What are you _doing?_ " Harry hissed.

Draco started making his way over to their booth, and she turned back to him, smiling. "Thought you two could enjoy a little lunch date. And maybe you could get over yourself and realise he's clearly besotted with you, and it's all going to be fine."

"No! This conversation isn't over, I still— !"

"Hey, I wasn't expecting to see you lot here today," Draco greeted. "Glad to see everyone around Baule Row has gotten used to Harry forgetting his glamours, too," he couldn't help adding. Really, Harry was just so brazenly careless sometimes.

"Hello! Ron and I were just leaving, actually, but it's nice to see you," Hermione said brightly, and Ron chugged the last half of his glass in a truly impressive show of determination.

"Yep, just leaving," he confirmed, clapping Harry on the shoulder, tossing three sickles down onto the table, and sliding out of the booth. "Enjoy your lunch date."

If Harry could glare daggers, he would've been. 

Actually, he wasn't quite sure _what_ all the limits of his magic were, so he thought maybe he shouldn't try _too_ hard. But still, the sentiment was there.

"We'll finish this conversation _later_." Harry's voice allowed for no compromise, but Ron and Hermione deftly ignored it.

"Lovely to catch up! Ta!" Hermione waved over her shoulder, and the pair made their way over toward the Floo. Harry could've _sworn_ Ron winked before disappearing in a swirl of green flames.

Why was he even friends with those two? Right. Because they forgave him for doing stupid shite like getting himself into a fake relationship and lying to them about it.

"That was a bit odd," Draco said, sliding into the booth that Hermione had vacated across from him. "Something I wasn't supposed to hear?"

"Top secret Ministry stuff and all that, you know?" Harry waved his hand dismissively. 

"Ah."

The guilt of not being honest with Draco settled back over Harry like a storm cloud. Well _this_ was sure to be an awkward lunch — but still, he just couldn't tell Draco until he'd finished talking to Ron and Hermione about it all.


	14. Chapter 14

Perhaps Harry should have predicted that Ron and Hermione would be suspiciously hard to get ahold of the next day. 

He went into work defeated, after half an hour of trying their Floo.

"How was your holiday?" Zylphia asked, when he slouched through the front door of the shop — _in_ his glamour, thank you very much.

"Fine. Good. Great."

"Uh- _huh_. And why are you so mopey then? Did something happen?"

"No." Harry scuffed his foot against the floor in front of the counter, and twisted the ends of his scarf in his hands. "Just…I'm just stupid and I'm gonna mess everything up and—"

"Wait, wait. Start at the beginning, please. What are you going to mess up?"

"This...everything with Draco. And I _know_ you told me so, and I know I should've said something at the beginning, but I _didn't_ and now I'm stuck and I'm afraid to tell him, but I _have to_ , but he's gonna hate me."

"What are you so afraid but so obligated to tell him, then?"

Harry huffed. "I'm in love with him, which you already knew, which you knew _months ago_ apparently, because _apparently_ you can read me better than I can read myself."

Zylphia leaned back in her chair. "I see. And so why are you so afraid of this then?"

"Because he obviously doesn't, and this whole thing has been under a false pretence because I wasn't actually supposed to feel anything for him and that changes the context of everything, but I still didn't say anything!"

"Ah. That. Do tell me how it's obvious he doesn't feel the same way."

Harry bit his lip. "It just…it just _is_ , okay."

Zylphia sighed, and picked her accounting book back up. "Well, if you're certain. I hope you're done with all this doom and gloom soon enough — you already know my thoughts on the matter, and talking things through like honest adults does tend to be the best solution, but obviously I can't control your life."

"I'm going to. I am, really. Just...I'm scared and I can't help putting it off."

"Hmm. Well, if you don't mind, please ask Draco if he's planning to come over for New Years as usual. We didn't know if you two had plans or something, and he's ignoring Rodya's owls still. Tell him to stop being rude whilst you're at it, too — they're beginning to get hurt, and I'm _sure_ none of us want that." She gave him a hard look, and then paused. "You're, of course, welcome too," she added. "I don't think you and Rodya have properly met."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, of course. That sounds great, actually. I'll have to double-check with Draco, but I'm sure we'll be there — we don't have any other plans that I know of."

He wasn't sure quite how he was supposed to convey the steely expression on Zylphia's face when he told Draco to open the backlog of letters on his desk, but he was sure he'd figure out something. And besides, the New Years get-together _did_ sound like fun.

It was only several hours later that he realised.

Fuck. If they were supposed to be going to this New Years thing and it was a tradition of Draco's, then he couldn't just _ruin it_ by confessing right before it!

"Hey Zylphie?" He called from the back room.

"...Yes? Is there something you need?"

"Do you, um...I can come in tomorrow and Sunday. To make up for the holiday."

Harry could practically feel her eyes through the wall. He cringed.

"You're _not_ using work as an excuse to avoid Draco. And besides, it's a _holiday_. You're not supposed to _pay it back_."

"...Right." Well, that was a wash, then.

◇◇◇

Draco sorted through the letters on his desk with an honestly admirable ruthless efficiency.

"Why did I ever sign up for that blasted Gringotts monthly vault inventory. The letters are _incessant_ ," Draco muttered to himself, tossing another on what was, presumably, the 'Don't Care' pile.

Harry watched from the bed with confusion and fascination. There seemed to be plenty of Muggle mail mixed in as well, and he had no idea about where any of _that_ had come from.

Draco's hands paused in their flurry of sorting. "Ah. Whoops."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Just… I seem to have missed something important, and it was in the middle of the pile, so I've no idea how long it's been there, but...there appears to be a letter for you from the Ministry?" It came out more like a question, and Draco seemed hesitant turning around and handing it to Harry.

Harry just shrugged. "If it was really important, they'd have sent another."

"They might _have_ ," Draco said under his breath, but turned and went back to sorting.

Harry pried up the elaborate wax seal, and opened it. "Oh, I should've suspected. It's only the invitation to the Ministry Gala. Usually I just bin it."

Draco paused again, briefly, before continuing his sorting. "Oh, right."

Harry looked closer at the invitation. " _Three_ days? These things are so ridiculously extravagant. Who needs a ball to last three nights in a row?"

He read through the entire letter, something about esteemed guests and influential figures welcoming in the new year hand in hand with the Ministry, blah blah. Something about it was niggling at something in his mind, though, and he read through it again.

Oh, dammit, _right_. This was _exactly_ the sort of thing the Malfoy family would have been all over. Exactly the sort of thing Draco was no longer extended an invitation to, for reasons that Harry was supposed to be _fixing_ with this whole fake-relationship thing.

"Did you— did you, er, want to go?" he finally asked.

"It's not exactly my idea of a fun time," Draco answered, haltingly, still facing away from him, sorting through the letters on the desk.

Slytherins. He couldn't just answer the damned question the way it was _meant_.

"Do you...think it would be beneficial to your reputation to attend?" Harry rephrased.

"Is it worth it?" Draco shot back.

Harry stared at the back of Draco's head trying to figure out just how his mind worked.

"Of course it's worth it," he said. "Isn't that the point of all this?"

Draco sighed. "Yes, I supposed it is." 

Harry tried to ignore the way that made his heart ache.

"One day should do, I think. We needn't bother with all three, we just need to be seen rubbing shoulders with the _'right sort'_." Draco's voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"Right." Harry looked back down at the invitation. "The first night's on Sunday, shall we go then? I've work on Monday, and we're meant to be doing that get-together with Zylphia and Rodya Tuesday night."

"Sunday it is, then. Probably best to avoid the hoopla of the final night and such — although the opening probably won't be much better. Have you got any formal robes?"

Harry paused. "Er…"

"That's a no, then. I guess I know what we're doing tomorrow. It's a good job I've the weekend off for once. Merlin's pants, two days to prepare for a goddamned Ministry Gala. I'm going to be eaten alive."

"I won't let that happen," Harry reassured.

Draco dropped the letters he was sorting, and turned his eyes on Harry. " _You_ get by on pure luck and being _you_. You aren't going to be saving _anyone_."

"Right. So have you got any etiquette books lying around? And would now be a good time to tell you that I don't know how to dance?"

Draco laughed. "Oh, if this isn't a complete and utter disaster, I will thank every goddamn lucky star there is out there. Individually. I suppose my reputation can't get much _worse_ , even if it _is_ a wreck."

◇◇◇

By Sunday morning, all of Draco's peace with the idea that things couldn't get any worse seemed to have flown out the window. Harry thought he probably should have seen that coming.

The Snitch tattoo fluttered restlessly in a dizzying corkscrew around his throat as he paced the room. 

"I cannot for the _life_ of me remember if it's Mafalda Prewitt, or Malvina Flint who's thrown in behind the newest legislation on limiting Wizengamot term limits, and I haven't a single person to ask! I never thought I'd say this, but _fuck_ I'd kill for Pansy Parkinson's encyclopædic knowledge on all things personal politics right now."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that either. Isn't she one of the ones who—"

Draco held up a hand to cut him off. "Yes. And don't bring it up again. I swear I'll spend the rest of my days trying to forget I have that god-awful tattoo."

Harry snorted. He had perhaps gone a bit overboard laughing when he had first seen that particular tattoo. It was a small stick-and-poke broom — no more than an inch — that hovered around the inside of Draco's hip bone, occasionally bucking an invisible rider. That on its own wouldn't have prompted questioning, but the inscription under it, along with the suggestive placement had had Harry in stitches.

It had just been so _unexpected_. Draco had a lot of beautiful tattoos on his skin, and they were undebatably art, so Harry hadn't expected such a bawdy little obviously-hand-done piece, of a racing broom with the words 'FREE TO RIDE' underneath.

Draco had sighed and stared up at the ceiling with his arms crossed until Harry had quit laughing.

"Are you quite finished?" He had said.

"I'm not sure. I'm afraid to look at it again." Another chuckle had slipped past Harry's lips, and he had asked. "Why?"

Draco had heaved an extraordinarily put-upon sigh. "It was a dare. All the Sixth Year Slytherins were playing, first week back — we'd gather in the boys dormitory, it was a bit of a tradition. Basically, everyone ganged up on me, and since it was right after the...you know, I couldn't rightly say I was against marking my skin. I bargained them down in size though, because they hadn't _specified_. Daphne was pushing for it to be at least five inches, and no way in _hell_ was that happening. Pansy was disturbingly prepared with the ink enchantments, and it was a horribly embarrassing half hour," he laughed.

Harry smiled. It actually sounded like a fun memory, even if embarrassing. "Do you still keep in touch with any of them?"

Draco's face had closed off at that. "No," he'd said, and that had been the end of that.

"I also never thought I'd say I missed being able to cross reference the book of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Draco grumbled, still pacing the room. "Even _if_ half the families are in ruin."

"Well it's not as if there will be a _quiz_ ," Harry tried to reassure.

"Oh no, it's much worse than that. They rope you into hyper-specific _conversation_ and try to trip you up. And if you're not up-to-date on all the who's-who, and every little bit of goings-on, then you're _nobody_."

"Really? I don't think I've ever noticed."

Draco stopped his pacing. "Need I remind you that _you're Harry Potter_. They're silently judging you for not knowing, but they wouldn't _dare_ insinuate anything...unkind about you. Comes with the territory of being the saviour of the wizarding world, if you hadn't noticed. You get free passes. Even if I'm on your arm, they wouldn't dream of extending me the same courtesy. Maybe they wouldn't say anything blatant in front of you, but you can bet they'll say it _somewhere_."

"And so it will help you to go into this anyway...how?" Harry asked. The more Draco described the function, the more it sounded like being thrown into a pit of viper masquerading as smiling aristocrats.

"It will help me better gauge what those with _connections_ think of me now, as of all this happening." He gestured vaguely between him and Harry. " _And_ , if I can manage to pass the muster, I _might_ just get a leg up. Merlin I didn't miss all this cramming of inane personal trivia, though."

Harry raised his eyebrows, but decided to leave him to his pacing and hand-wringing and muttering. Perhaps he'd be calmer by the time the Gala actually started.

◇◇◇

Harry hadn't the faintest idea _why_ he continually got his hopes up that things would go smoothly. It was hardly ever the case.

Draco was even _more_ of a nervous wreck, although he was hiding it admirably. He stepped out of the Floo in the Ministry Atrium right after Harry, and Harry offered his arm.

"Into the pit of vipers we go," Draco muttered in his ear as he took his arm. Harry heard him cast a discreet cleaning charm over both of them to get rid of the stray ashes from the Floo, and then they were headed into the throng.

The first hour passed in a whirlwind of small talk with various influential magical folk, and Harry was happy to let Draco do most of the talking. He felt as if everyone was having three conversations at once, and he was only catching perhaps half of one.

He was terribly impressed with Draco, though, and he thought perhaps he _had_ been right to be optimistic about things running smoothly after all. Draco was still nervous, he could tell, but he looked and sounded wonderfully composed. He seemed to have the answer for _everything_ , despite his earlier fretting.

"That really is lovely to hear, Madam Zelinsky," he was saying. "Be sure to tell me when you hear back about the proposal; I do hope it goes through."

"Of course, of course. You'll be the first to know my dear." Madam Zelinsky patted Draco on the arm, and then excused herself gracefully.

Draco scoffed. " _The first to know_. I doubt I'll be anything but the _last_ , if I even hear back at all. She's better than most at disguising her contempt though, I'll give her that."

"It looked to me like you charmed the pants off her."

"Yes, yes," Draco said distractedly, looking around for the next conversational victim. "That's exactly what she wanted you to think. Herr Sauer looks available."

And then Harry was being dragged to yet another conversation way above his head. Although it was almost a relief when it was conducted entirely in German, as at least Harry had a _reason_ not to understand it.

"Do you think we ought to dance?" Harry asked, once they had excused themselves from the company of Herr Sauer.

"Hmm? Oh yes, probably. Can we manage a slow box step?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not _incompetent_."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Tell that to my poor toes which spent yesterday evening getting repeatedly crushed."

"Okay _fine_ , I'm not _perfect_ , but it's a slow song; I'll be fine."

"If you say so. Lead the way, then."

True to his word, Harry _did_ manage a slow box step, and he only stepped on Draco's toes _once_.

"We really ought to find more excuses to get you dressed up," Draco murmured, as another song began. "Not that you aren't always handsome, but…" his eyes trailed over Harry appreciatively, "the dress robes are certainly doing you favours."

Harry felt himself flush a little at the look in his eyes. "Well you're one to talk. You never wear robes anymore, nevermind getting dressed up."

"Was there a compliment somewhere in there?"

"Fishing. You know very well how good you look."

The corner of Draco's mouth pulled up. "Still, it doesn't hurt to hear."

Harry rolled his eyes, before adopting a very serious expression and looking into his eyes. "You look utterly breathtaking tonight, love," he said.

Draco stumbled slightly.

"How's that?" Harry asked.

"Erm. It— it'll do."

Harry snorted. He _had_ been taking the piss a bit, but he wasn't _lying_. Draco did look good, distractingly good, even, in steely grey robes with dark navy accents. Harry didn't know a thing about fashion or colour theory or any of that, but it made his pale skin and hair stand out in a truly arresting way.

"Anyway, I think the young Mrs. Fawley over there — and perhaps _Mr_ _._ Fawley too, if my eyes serve me — is eyeing you up like dessert. You may want to be careful there." Draco said softly, moving the conversation back away from his embarrassment at Harry's serious compliment.

Harry suppressed a snicker. He couldn't tell if Draco was just trying to change the subject, or if he meant it seriously, but the way he'd said it made Harry wish laughing at a stuffy event like this was more socially acceptable. 

He tried not to get his hopes up at the slight note of jealousy he thought he'd heard in Draco's voice. 

“Is that so?” Harry replied, and briefly froze as he heard his voice boom out over the ballroom.

His first reaction was to be furious. The completely brazen lack of respect for any sort of privacy, and unashamed obvious eavesdropping was disgusting. Of course, him getting angry had only ever resulted in bad press and the questioning of his sanity — which, of course, would get ultimately blamed on _Draco_.

He wasn't exactly practised in _not_ getting angry over these sorts of things, though. He tried his best, but he also couldn't just _not_ comment on it and let it slide. It wasn't exactly as if he had a whole lot of people to model in his life who wouldn't be spitting mad either.

Ron and Ginny would definitely be furious. He had no idea _what_ Zylphia would do in this situation. Hermione would probably break the spell and say nothing, but get some sort of revenge after. Draco…well actually Draco wasn't such a bad model. He certainly had a way of calmly cutting people down to size when he needed to.

Altogether, only a split-second had passed before Harry let Draco continue leading him in their dance, and spoke up as calmly and clearly as possible, trying to channel as much Draco as he could whilst his voice still reverberated through the room.

“There are much more discreet ways of eavesdropping than casting a _sonorus_ , you know. But the whole practise in general is considered pretty rude, so I’d refrain.” He let his magic crush the spell with more ferocity than really necessary. “ _Anyway_ ,” he continued to Draco, back at normal volume, “do you reckon they’ll learn any shame anytime soon?”

Draco’s expression hadn’t outwardly changed, but his eyes were gleaming. “Harry,” he said, trying to keep the laughter from his voice. “ _Harry_. You have to know that whoever cast that spell is absolutely _messing_ themselves right now. You’ve certainly taught them fear, if not shame.”

Harry didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. “Everybody’s been yelled at by Harry Potter — it’s not scary at all, judging by how willing people continue to be to violate any and all personal boundaries.”

“Harry,” Draco repeated, seemingly torn between amusement and grave seriousness. “You just dropped someone else’s spell on yourself with no wand, no hand movements, and no incantation in a split second between words, easy as breathing. They’re pissing themselves. You’re not exactly known for being calm either, and you just...I wouldn’t doubt they’re terrified that you know exactly who it was.”

Harry blushed. “Okay, it’s not all _that_ ; you don’t have to make it sound like some massive deal. It was just a _sonorus_ — it’s not like I’m, I dunno, _duelling_ wandless or something."

"Right," Draco said. "Although I don't doubt you could."

"Stop flattering me," Harry complained. "I just did what I had to. I was trying to channel _you_ so I didn't start yelling and have the Prophet tomorrow full of how you've driven me into an unstable, temperamental monster."

"Me? Is _that_ what I sound like? Merlin, no wonder it's hard to make friends."

"Oh shush, you're a delight," he deadpanned, although he wasn't really joking. "And it wasn't that scary."

"Mhm, whatever you say dear."  
  
“Incorrigible.” Harry slid his hand up from Draco’s shoulder to cup his cheek, and the Snitch tattoo sped up onto his face and under Harry's hand.

“Has to be part of the draw then, because you certainly didn’t go in blind.”

“Maybe sometimes,” Harry allowed, smiling. He really wanted to kiss him, but he severely doubted the PDA would be well accepted, so he just patted Draco’s cheek twice softly and slid his hand back to his shoulder.

The song drew to a close and they made their way off the dancefloor. Back to the schmoozing, then.

◇◇◇

It was nearing midnight by the time Draco was satisfied he'd touched base with everyone worth doing so. Harry had enjoyed their conversation with Kingsley — who was truly a breath of fresh air from the posturing and circuitous speech — but unfortunately it was a rather short one, as the Minister was pulled away to someone else's attentions.

"Would you like another dance before we go?" Harry asked.

"Yes, actually. I think my toes are gluttons for punishment."

"Ha ha," Harry deadpanned.

"You know I'm only teasing, sweetheart. Come on, I think it might be more pleasant outside. Less risk of attempted eavesdropping."

Harry followed him out the side doors into the garden, which was, indeed, sparsely populated. 

Draco shivered slightly at the cold, and Harry concentrated on creating a bubble of warmth around them.

"Hm, thank you. How gentlemanly," Draco commented.

"I try my best." Harry held his hand out, and Draco took it, pulling him close.

"I think we can do away with the seemly six inches of space if nobody's watching."

Harry hummed in agreement. "Good."

They stood, chest to chest, swaying in place to the strains of music from inside.

_I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for so long and I don't even know quite when it happened. I just want to stay holding you like this forever if you'll let me._

The words beat at Harry's lips, but he swallowed them back. Two more days. Two more days, and then he could tell him without ruining New Years.

"I love you," he settled for.

Draco gave him a soft smile, and kissed him. It was chaste and slow; a physical _I'm here_.

"I love you too," he said.

Harry closed his eyes so he didn't have to look at that heartbreakingly earnest smile, and leaned the side of his head against Draco's.

They stood there swaying silently, cheek to cheek for some time.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry was, for perhaps the first time in his life, pleased to have woken up terribly early. A glance at the pocket watch on Draco's chest (and Herbert the dragon adorably fast asleep and snoring beneath it) told him it was only just past six, which would give him plenty of time to firecall Ron and Hermione ( _if_ they'd finally unlocked their damned Floo) before work.

Of course, they probably wouldn't be awake for a bit, but if Harry was quiet, Draco wouldn't be up for a while either.

He slid carefully out of bed, shoved his glasses onto his face, and gave an almighty stretch, which produced several rather alarming popping sounds from his joints.

That didn't bode particularly well for the next few decades, he thought, but at least he felt more awake now.

He wandered over to Bartholomew's cage, where the owl was roosting, with one eye open, watching Harry shrewdly.

"You wouldn't tattle on me, would you?" He whispered, grabbing the bag of treats from the desk drawer. "No, of course you wouldn't."

Probably a month ago Bartholomew would've screeched as soon as he got out of bed, but Harry liked to think they had bonded. Perhaps mostly through copious amounts of treats, but it was bonding nonetheless.

Harry offered a couple treats, and Bartholomew gobbled them down agreeably silently. "You _are_ very handsome, aren't you," Harry murmured, stroking the side of his face with a fingertip, and Bartholomew preened. He was beginning to think maybe Draco was right about how much the bird understood sometimes.

Bird properly placated, he turned away to put the treat bag back, and caught sight of a very ornate-looking letter on top of one of the neat stacks on the desk.

**_Hermione J. Granger & Ronald B. Weasley_ **

**invite Harry J. Potter and Draco L. A. B. Malfoy to their marriage celebration**

**Saturday, 22 February, 2003**   
**at 4 o'clock in the evening**

**The Burrow**  
 **Ottery St Catchpole, Devon** ****

* * *

**Dinner to follow** ****

Harry smiled at the initials — he just _knew_ Ron had bargained Hermione down from using full names to avoid having 'Bilius' on the invitation. The letter itself was beautiful, as he was sure the wedding would be, but it was also terribly presumptuous.

This was _exactly_ why Harry still needed to finish having that conversation with them. They had just _assumed_ that Draco would still be _around_ come time for the wedding, and that he would still want to go — nevermind still wanting to go _with Harry_.

He turned away from the stacks of papers on the desk, and decided to take a shower and think through what exactly he needed to say.

Of course, after the shower, he found himself stalling once again, though he wasn't quite sure _why_. He ended up making an unnecessarily fancy omelette with cheese, tomato, capsicum, spinach, mushrooms, and basil; and he came to the conclusion (as he was adding the _sixth_ ingredient) that perhaps he really needed to do something about this procrastinating problem of his.

He set a plate on the table under a warming charm for Draco, and brought his with him to sit in front of the fire. All he needed to do was _call_. And hope that their Floo wasn't locked, of course.

Taking a deep breath, and tossing a large pinch of Floo powder into the flames, he stuck his head in and announced, "Granger-Weasley residence!"

He was pleasantly surprised to actually be able to see into the living room. Of course, he could only see the empty sofa, but still. "Ron? Hermione? Are you up yet?" he called.

"Hold on a min," he heard Ron call back.

Ron came into view a few moments later, and kneeled down. "Hey Harry, 'Mione's already gone to work. What d'ya need?"

"What do I need? I'm _trying_ to finish our conversation from the other day, which you two saw fit to excuse yourselves from early and then lock the Floo!"

"Right, that again."

"I got your wedding invitation too — awfully cheeky."

"Was not! We all know you're gonna bring him, seemed cold to just say _plus one_."

"Well I _don't_ know if I'm going to bring him, because — as we _discussed_ — I've no idea if he'll want anything to do with me by then!"

"Bit dramatic. Hey, you wouldn't happen to have made breakfast, would you? Because I can smell toast and eggs, and _I_ didn't make any."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, did you want some?"

Ron beamed. "If you're offering!"

Harry rolled his eyes, but started to pull back from the fire. "Come on and step through, then."

A moment after he'd pulled his head out of the fire, Ron's head appeared. "I can't talk for long, so I'm not gonna step through, but pass me the toast, would you?"

Harry tossed him a piece like a bone to a dog, and Ron glared, once he'd caught it in his teeth. "This is uncivilised."

It came out more of a near-unintelligible mumble around the toast, but Harry was well-practised in understanding Ron's speech whilst eating.

"Yeah, well, that was supposed to be _my_ breakfast," he said, shoving a forkful of eggs into his own mouth. "And I'm not going to go find the tongs."

"Could use the fire poker," Ron suggested, doing an impressive manoeuvre with his face to inch the toast further into his mouth.

" _Anyway_ ," Harry said. "About Draco."

"Yeah, about that. What happened to being a Gryffindor — why haven't you told him?"

"Sh! Be quieter, he's still asleep!" Harry whispered harshly. "And I _can't_. We're supposed to be going to Zylphia and her spouse's place for New Years tomorrow and it's apparently like a tradition for him, and I can't just _ruin_ his holiday with this."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I dunno mate, like I said before, he seems pretty into you. I really don't think you'll be ruining any holidays."

"But it's _acting_ ," Harry said frustratedly. "And—" he cut himself off, turning back to look toward the bedroom as he heard the door open. "Oh, crap, I think he's awake now."

Harry heard the shower turn on, followed by a loud "Ack!!"

"What the hell was that?" Ron hissed.

"Shite," Harry swore, but didn't explain further, merely shaking his head at Ron. He braced himself for what he knew was about to come as he heard the water turn off, followed by a very deep, dramatic sigh.

"Oh Harry!" Draco called, in a falsely cheerful, sing-songy voice.

He dropped his face into his hands. Ron was never going to let this go.

"Harry!" Draco called, even louder, with more forced cheer. "Harry, my love, my dearest darling, light of my life!"

Ron looked like he was about to burst from trying not to laugh, and Harry picked up his head to glare at him, before finally calling back. "Yes?"

" _Why is there no hot water?! I have to be at work in half an hour_ ," Draco demanded, dropping the cheerful tone.

"Um. Sorry. Use a warming charm?"

"A warming charm? _A warming charm?_ Tell me, Harry, have you ever tried to take a shower using warming charms? It's just freezing your arse off with the occasional spot of warmth, so no, I'm not going to use a bloody _warming charm_."

There was a rummaging coming from the bedroom, probably Draco trying to get dressed for work.

Ron looked like he was biting his lip hard enough to hurt with the effort to not laugh, and Harry could swear there were tears in his eyes.

" _It's not that funny!_ " he hissed at him, before calling to Draco. "I made breakfast?"

Harry heard the rummaging pause.

"Breakfast? I mean I won't say _no_ to that, but I have a better idea of how you can make it up to me?"

Harry flushed crimson and resolutely did not look at Ron. "Don't you, erm, don't you have to go to work?" he got out.

"In _half an hour_."

"Talk to you later, mate," Ron laughed quietly. "I think my point is proven anyway."

"Wait, no, it's _not— !_ " Harry cut himself off as Ron's face disappeared from the flames.

"Who're you talking to?" Draco rounded the corner into the living room.

Harry stood up. "Er, I was sort of on a firecall with Ron."

" _Weasley_ heard all of that?!"

"Um...yeah."

Draco just sighed and closed his eyes.

Harry walked over to put his arms around Draco's shoulders and placed a kiss on his neck. "Want a blowjob for your troubles?"

Draco kissed him briefly, before pulling back and heading back to the bedroom.

"Of course I want a blowjob."

Harry laughed and followed behind him.

Draco stopped short, however, when he reached the room, and saw a Prophet delivery owl in the window, waiting for payment.

"Ah, we'll have to take a rain-check. I forgot, we have to see how our appearance at the Ministry Gala last night was taken," Draco said, casting about for change on his desk, and dropping a knut into the coin pouch on the owl's leg.

He took the paper, and offered the owl a treat, which it accepted, before taking off out the window.

Draco unfolded the Prophet expectantly.

**Potter-Malfoy Couple Attend Ministry's**   
**New Years Gala**

"Well that could certainly be a worse headline. I'm almost afraid to hope it might be slightly pleasant."

Harry looked over his shoulder, and saw photo-Harry looking horribly besotted with photo-Draco in the garden. Lovely. At least he didn't look disgusted or something, but it was embarrassing for his emotions to be shown so clearly so _publicly_ — he hadn't even realised any photographers had been around whilst they were outside.

The photo-version of him was swaying with photo-Draco, and brought their intertwined hands up to kiss his ring. Wow — nauseatingly coupley.

He quickly skimmed the article. Blah blah something about them looking handsome and in love, blah blah what a surprise, blah...St. Mungo's?

Harry quickly backtracked and reread the paragraph.

> _For all our concerned readers, who may still be questioning (as we have) the foundations of this strange coupling which seems to have taken the entire wizarding world by surprise; you may be happy to note that we were able to get in contact with two healers from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries._

> _Healers Lavinia Crawkley, and Milton Sturgess report that, as part of a routine check-up earlier this month, Mr. Potter (who regularly volunteers at the children's ward — don't get too excited, admirers, the ward is closed-access) was screened for any charms, potions, hexes, or other magical interference (Dark, or otherwise) of any sort. As a result, this reporter is pleased to announce that our dear Mr. Potter has a completely clean bill of health. Rest assured that The Boy Who Lived continues on, unswayed by any attempted nefarious interventions._

Well. Whilst Harry wanted to gag at the wording, at least they were no longer pushing the idea that Draco had somehow drugged him or something.

And at least Lavinia and Milton had done something somewhat _positive_ with the results of that stupid ambush of a check-up. When they'd approached him on Saturday whilst he was with the children, asking for his permission to share the results of that particular meeting with a reporter, Harry hadn't been entirely sure what would come of it.

Half of him feared his loss of his temper would be blown out of proportion and taken as a sign that he was mentally unwell or some other nonsense, but he had merely said, 'Yeah, sure, whatever', and decided to let the chips fall where they may.

If the reporter had really wanted to write an article about Harry being mentally unwell, they could surely dig up _something_ they could twist to fit their narrative, and Harry denying them that one bit of information wouldn't change that.

"Huh. It really _was_ pretty positive. Or, well, more neutral, but _comparatively_ positive." Draco sounded surprised.

Honestly, Harry was too. But it was nice to be _pleasantly_ surprised for once.

◇◇◇

"Aren't you just the sweetest little man? You are, aren't you?"

Draco leaned over to Harry, as Harry watched Rodya feed Bartholomew yet another hors d'oeuvre whilst cooing at him softly. "Sometimes I think they like Bartholomew more than me," he muttered.

"I'm seeing that," Harry replied quietly. "Now I know what Hermione was on about when she kept calling him a 'polite young man' after I sent the RSVP for the wedding. I've never seen him so well behaved."

"You'd know that _already_ if you just listened to me," Draco sniffed.

Bartholomew nuzzled into Rodya's hand, and Zylphia leaned over to stroke a finger against the side of his pleased, fluffy little face.

Harry grabbed another hors d'oeuvre and sat back. So far, New Years Eve had been pretty chill. Rodya was welcoming and not at all starstruck, as promised. Much of the time had been spent with the four of them just eating and chatting aimlessly — and, of course, paying attention to Bartholomew.

"Two minutes to midnight. Have you got a resolution?" he asked Draco.

"Hm. I haven't thought about it." He was quiet for several moments. "I think... I think maybe my resolution is to...let hope in. Don't be so scared to be optimistic," he finally said, looking at Harry.

Harry nodded. That actually sounded really lovely.

"What's yours?" Draco asked.

Harry thought. "To work on being open and honest," he said. _To confess how in love with you I am._

"Ten seconds!" Rodya announced, and they all counted down together.

"Nine!"

"Eight!"

"Seven!"

"Six!"

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!"

"Happy New Year!" They all held their wands up, and showers of multicoloured sparks lit up the room.

Draco kissed him.

◇◇◇

By the time they made it back to their flat, Draco and Harry were both exhausted.

They stumbled through the Floo one after the other, and went straight to the bedroom.

Draco flopped down on the bed with a groan. "Remind me never to play drinking games with Rodya ever again."

"Oh you're _fine_. You had like four shots at _most_ before you quit."

"I think I'm gonna puke."

Harry sighed. "Need help getting to the bathroom?"

"No. Stay. I'm fine." He reached out an arm, feeling around behind himself for Harry. "I just need a cuddle."

"Uh- _huh_ ," Harry said, but, nevertheless, curled up behind him on the bed.

"I think I left my owl there," Draco mumbled into the pillow.

"What?" Harry looked up at Bartholomew's cage. "Oh. Shite, yeah. He knows the way back though, he's an owl."

"Rodya's gonna steal him. Adopt him. My son."

Harry laughed. "Go to sleep; your _son_ will be back in the morning I'm sure."

"Fuck. Right, I'm supposed to be being optimistic now. Horrible. Why did I say that?"

"Don't ask me," Harry said, taking off his glasses and waving them away onto the nightstand. "Give me your wand, you're going to break it sleeping with it."

"What? I don't think that's a thing."

Harry snorted. "Your _literal_ wand. Merlin help me. Hand it to me so you don't break it."

" _Right_...obviously. Where...?" He patted himself down. "Aha. The inside pocket, classic."

"That's where you always keep it," Harry said, tossing it and his own wand in the general direction of the table.

"I _know_ ," Draco said smugly, and Harry burst into laughter.

He kissed the back of his neck, and wrapped his arm tightly around him. "You're going to be horribly embarrassed in the morning."

"Am not; tipsy Draco is nice. He leaves me presents sometimes."

Harry kissed his neck again. "Go to sleep."

"Mhm." Draco snuggled down into the bed, and then seemed to have a thought. "Wait."

"What?"

Draco turned over so he could face Harry, and set a hand on his shoulder. "You love me, right?" he asked, seriously. "You wouldn't say that if you didn't care, yeah?"

"Yeah. Of course." Harry felt a little off-balance, like he'd missed a step walking down the stairs.

"Okay. Okay. Optimistic," Draco muttered to himself, burrowing his face against Harry's chest.

"Wait, Draco. Do you honestly doubt that? Seriously, I love you _so_ much. I'm _in_ love with you," he blurted out.

Draco looked up at him and blinked. "Maybe I _am_ drunk."

Well. Now was not the time to have said that but...in for a penny, in for a pound.

"No. I'm being honest. You're not drunk, and I'm in love with you. Have been for a while."

"What." It was supposed to be a question, but it came out more like a statement.

Draco heaved himself up to sitting, and wiped his eyes. "Okay, what? You can't just say something like that and..." he looked back down at Harry. "No you're _not_."

"I'm not? How would _you_ know? Of course I am! How was I supposed to _not_ be? I get if you're upset, but you can't just _deny_ it!"

Draco shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. "Why would I be...? Just— Are you really serious? And _why?_ "

"Of course I'm serious! Why _what?_ "

"Why... How are you supposed to be in love with me? That doesn't make any sense!"

"What do you mean it doesn't make any sense? I've been in love with you for ages — I don't know why I got into this whole...thing," he gestured between them, "thinking this _wouldn't_ happen!"

"But— I don't— Okay I think I actually am gonna throw up, hold on."

Draco scrambled out of bed and into the bathroom, and Harry followed him.

"You okay?" he asked, once Draco had finished heaving.

Draco started laughing. "I am _such_ a mess. How can you— How can you even say you're in love with someone like me?"

Harry shrugged. "It's not hard. You're pretty amazing, you know." He pushed the hair back from Draco's forehead and combed his fingers through it, and Draco's eyes fluttered shut.

"Come on, come with me to the kitchen." He dropped his hand from Draco's hair, and held it out for him to pull himself up.

"You," Harry announced, once they were in the kitchen, "have awfully low self-esteem for such a wonderful person." He shook some baking soda into a glass, and then filled it halfway with water from the tap. "You're kind of difficult not to love. You've charmed all the Weasleys, _and_ Hermione. Zylphia and Rodya love you — don't even _try_ to tell me they don't. Bartholomew is devoted to you. Your coworkers are all fond of you, even if they think we're aliens." He leaned back against the counter, stirring the mixture in the glass with a spoon. "Why is it so difficult to believe that I might have fallen in love with you?"

Draco shrugged, and Harry handed him the glass.

"Swish that, don't rinse your mouth after."

Draco did as he was told, and Harry took the glass back, turning back to the sink and starting to wash it by hand.

"I was awfully afraid to tell you, because I didn't want to ruin the holidays, and I didn't want you to hate me or for our relationship to be completely ruined, but I'm starting to think that I should've been more worried about you just not believing you're loveable." He squeezed out the sponge. "You are though. You're great company, and you're smart and hilarious and beautiful, and honestly what's _not_ to love about you?"

"Death Eater?" Draco croaked out.

Harry rinsed the glass and set it in the dish drainer with the spoon, before turning back to look at him. "You're not that person anymore. You've done so much work on yourself _not_ to be that person; how can you just throw it all away to say you haven't changed?"

Draco shrugged again. "I'm never going to be seen as anything else."

Harry grabbed his hands and brought them up to his chest. "That's not true, and you know it. Nobody I listed before sees you that way—"

"But—"

" _I_ see you," Harry interrupted his protest. "I _see_ you, I see who you really are, and I love you for it."

Draco swallowed hard. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay."

Harry brought his right hand up to kiss his ring, and Draco's eyes finally flickered up to his.

"Would now be a good time to tell you I've been in love with you for ages too?" he asked.

Harry grinned. "Now would be the perfect time." And he kissed him.

Draco pulled back after a second. "I've really got to brush my teeth, this baking soda tastes so fucking bad."

"It really does," Harry laughed.

Their next kiss was minty and entirely guilt-free.


	16. Chapter 16

They were both surprised by how little really changed in their relationship now that it was no longer 'fake'. Of course, the guilt and the pining were thankfully gone, which was a massive relief, but other than that most things were effectively the same.

Harry could hear Draco and Zylphia chatting in the front of the shop as he finished cleaning up for the day — a sound that had become increasingly familiar as Draco had started coming to pick him up from work on days he wasn't working as well. Harry had gotten in the habit of doing the same on weekends, and had built up a bit of a rapport with Draco's coworkers.

He didn't know how it had started, but nearly every weekend he asked whoever was working for a new music recommendation and bought whatever record was suggested. Usually they took this as an opportunity to ask questions about him being an alien, which Draco did not find funny _at all_ , but which Harry found _hilarious_.

The upside of these interactions was that at least there was always new music around to play whilst they made dinner.

“You ready to go yet?” Draco asked, knocking lightly on the doorframe.

“Yeah, just a second.” Harry grabbed his scarf from the table and wrapped it around his neck as he headed back up to the front. “Bye Zylphia, see you Monday!”

“Enjoy your weekend,” she waved, and Harry and Draco headed out onto the street.

Harry held out his hand, and Draco took it, turning on the spot and Apparating them home.

“What should we listen to tonight?”

Draco shrugged, heading toward the bedroom to toss his outerwear on the floor. “What about those...Red Hot Pepper Men?”

“Red Hot Chili Peppers?” Harry asked, following him into the bedroom.

“Sure, whatever." Just because he worked in a record shop didn't mean he had to know the name of _every_ group in there. "What was the newest one from them?”

Harry rifled quickly through the crate of records beside the desk and held up the album. “This one?”

Draco nodded. “Go for it.”

Harry put the record on, and smiled as they fell into their evening routine. It was so reassuring to have a little niche all of his own carved out in the world. To have a person and place and routine to come home to regularly. Maybe it sounded a bit boring from the outside, but, well, he found he _liked_ boring. He’d had _plenty_ of excitement in his life already anyway.

◇◇◇

The twenty second of February rolled around with alarming speed, and all of a sudden it was hitting Harry that, although Ron and Hermione had been a package deal for several years, his best friends were actually getting _married_. His best friends were getting married _today_. Like _right now_.

It was a bit of a surreal thought, even though effectively nothing would really be changing about their relationship. But _marriage_ had always seemed like somewhere off in the future. Of course Ron and Hermione were going to be together forever, and of course they’d been actively planning it for over a year now, but it was still so strange for it to _actually be happening_.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officator intoned, waving his wand over the heads of the couple with a small trail of sparks. Hermione threw her arms around Ron and kissed him — although they were both smiling too big to manage it properly.

The officiator smiled. “Everyone, please welcome the new Mr. and Mrs. Granger-Weasley.”

Harry found himself smiling, and clapped along with everyone else. He hadn’t ever really understood before why some people cried at weddings, but he felt a little teary-eyed just now.

Ron and Hermione walked back down the aisle together, and Harry and the rest of the wedding party set about directing the chairs from the tent to around the tables outside with magic.

Molly and Arthur were predictably weepy, and immediately claimed Ron and Hermione’s attention as everybody found their places at the tables.

Eventually, everyone was settled, and quieted down as Ron tapped a glass with his knife.

“Always wanted to do that,” he said with a grin. “Now let’s hear the Best Man speech! Harry?”

Harry cleared his throat nervously and stood up. He really hated public speaking (even if it was only friends and family present), but he couldn’t very well have refused for his best friends’ _wedding_.

"As I’m sure you all know, Ron, Hermione, and I have been best friends since we were eleven." That got a few titters — he doubted the whole of Britain didn’t know about the ‘three inseparable war heroes’, as the Prophet had put it after the war. “Because of that, I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to see for myself how true the phrase ‘better together’ can be.” He turned to Ron and Hermione. “The two of you have been hopelessly in love since at _least_ Fourth Year, and even if it took you a few years after that to actually _get together_ , I couldn’t be happier that you did. Even if the first time you chose to _show that_ was in the middle of a very time-sensitive battle.” 

That got laughs, and Hermione blushed. “No regrets,” she said, squeezing Ron’s hand, and Harry smiled.

“But seriously, the two of you complement each other in such a beautiful way.” He looked to Hermione. “And with your logic, and Ron’s strategic mind, I’ve absolutely no doubt the two of you could take over the whole world if you had a mind to. I guess we’re all lucky you’ve set your sights a bit smaller,” he winked, and the audience laughed again.

“The very few times over the years that the two of you weren’t on speaking terms, I think prove to all of us how much better you are together than apart. You've always managed to find your way back to each other and I can't help but believe that's a bit of magic in and of itself." Harry remembered Ron coming back during the hunt for the Horcruxes, saving his life and destroying the locket; hearing all he'd gone through to find them again and how the locket had been poisoning his mind for weeks beforehand. "I’d honestly be hard-pressed to find any other people who are as good a match as you two.” He picked up his champagne glass and held it up in a toast. “So, to Mr. and Mrs. Granger-Weasley, and many more happy years together. Cheers.”

There were cries of “Cheers!” from around all the tables, and some applause.

Ron swiped at his eye with his sleeve, and Harry knew he'd been thinking of the Horcrux hunt as well. “Fucking hell, Harry, you weren’t supposed to actually do a _good job_ — you’re shite at public speaking!” Several people laughed at that, and Harry laughed too, making his way over to the bride and groom to hug them.

“Thank you Harry,” Hermione said, as he hugged them. “That was horribly sweet.”

When they all pulled back, she wiped her eyes too.

“Well if the goal was to make you both cry, I guess I succeeded.”

She gave a watery laugh. “You did.”

◇◇◇

Harry and Draco were seated at a large circular table with Molly, Arthur, Charlie, Ginny, Cho, and Luna; and the dinner conversation was predictably boisterous.

“That was just such a lovely speech, Harry,” Arthur said, for probably the third time. 

"Thanks, dad," he said yet again.

"You’ve all grown so fast!" Molly exclaimed. "It seems like you were just in nappies. I can’t believe my little Ron is _married_ now. It’s just the two of you and Percy left, then." She gestured at Harry and Ginny in turn. 

Harry saw Charlie visibly relax at being left out of the relationship conversation, and he tipped his glass at him. Charlie smiled and tipped his glass back.

“No pressure, of course,” Molly hastily added, leaning past Harry to direct that last bit at Draco, Cho, and Luna.

“ _Mum_ ,” Ginny complained.

“All good things come with time,” Cho said calmly, and Molly positively _beamed_ at her.

Ginny had introduced Luna and Cho as her girlfriends to Molly and Arthur a few weeks ago. They had already been familiar with Luna, and had gladly accepted her into the fold; and Cho charmed them both near-instantaneously.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, and Harry had to hold back a laugh. He could practically hear Draco’s ‘I knew we were moving fast, but she’s expecting us to get hitched _already?_ ’ Harry squeezed his knee under the table, and Draco turned his attention back to Luna.

“I’m no expert, but I’m sensing an _impressive_ lack of wrackspurts around here today.”

“Oh, I _know!_ It’s fascinating, isn’t it? Definitely a good omen if I ever saw one.” She pushed up the sleeves of her blindingly canary yellow robes, so as not to trail them in the food on her plate as she gestured. “And _you_ ,” she said, earnestly, “the past few times you’ve been in the Prophet, you and Harry we’re positively _swarmed_ , but now there isn’t a single one around either of you! I’m so glad everything worked out.”

“Thank you, Luna,” Draco said, sincerely. “I am too.”

◇◇◇

Later on in the evening, after most of the guests had left, Harry and Draco were left chatting with the bride and groom off to the side of the dancefloor.

"See, aren't you glad we took the leap of faith and invited Draco as your plus one for you?" Hermione teased Harry, and he rolled his eyes.

"It was still presumptuous. And— wait, _leap of faith?!_ You two were talking like he was a sure thing! And you just let me confess to him _not knowing?_ "

The other three burst out laughing as Harry fumed, although there was no real anger behind it.

"Well there's a _bit_ of guesswork in everything, Harry," Hermione placated, with a hand on his arm. "It seemed pretty certain, but you never know, really — there's always a _chance_ we could be wrong."

Ron snorted. "A _really_ unlikely chance, sure."

Harry rolled his eyes, turning to Draco. "You hear that? They're calling you easy."

Draco laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "They're not entirely wrong, when _you're_ involved."

"Damn, you even turned my own boyfriend against me."

Hermione snorted. "Go on then, have a romantic dance and make up." She flicked her wand and Celestina Warbeck's _'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love'_ began to play. All three of them groaned as she laughed.

"Well I don't know about _them_ , but as my wife you _have_ to dance with me now. Pay for your actions," Ron swept her back onto the dancefloor, still laughing.

Harry finished the champagne in his glass and waved it to the nearest table, holding his hand out for Draco. "It's an awful song, but dance with me anyway."

"Gladly. My toes were starting to get too complacent about not getting pulverised."

"You're awful," Harry snickered. "Maybe lets just sway though, if we're avoiding dancing-related injuries."

They swayed together, and even Celestina's corny lyrics couldn't dampen how full Draco's heart felt.

"I love you," he said in Harry's ear.

"I love you too. You think our wedding will be this lovely?"

Draco groaned. "That better not be a proposal, Potter."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said blithely. "So is that a no?"

Draco laughed. "You're not _nearly_ as slick as you think you are. But no, ours will be even _better_."

"Of course. My mistake." Draco could feel Harry smiling against his cheek. "Marry me? You know, in a few years, so we have time to make it even better, of course."

Draco pulled back and kissed him, and he could feel Harry grinning against him. "Hell yeah I will. Nobody'll know what hit 'em. Give me three years and we'll have the best goddamn wedding anyone's ever seen."

"You're on."


End file.
